


A Bullet Through Your Head

by someonesendhelp



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Also some 50's slang, F/F, Gonna add more tags soon, Historical Inaccuracy, I Don't Know Anymore, I guess???, I haven't done research for this fic yet, I'm sorry for inaccurate stuff written here, M/M, Mafia Slang, MafiaAU, MafiaBoss!Bill, OCs coming your way, Yeaaaahhh this is angst, Yup i'm pretty sure, but everyone's fine and dandy with same sex relationships, oh my gosh my first AU, probably angst, this is probably set after World War 2, writer!dipper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 10:40:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 41,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4703012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someonesendhelp/pseuds/someonesendhelp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say that the city life was not meant for him, but Dipper Pines wanted it nonetheless. He is about to change his mind when he meets the notorious mafia boss who terrorizes the city of Manhattan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Journey to the Big City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! My very first AU!  
> Yeah, yeah, I know I should be working on my other fic but I just can't get this idea out of my head iwantedtowriteitsobad  
> Though, I haven't done research for this thing but I'm gonna change it once I do so please bear with me *sweats*

“Are you sure about this, Dipper?”

Mabel paced back and forth as she nibbled on her usually well-kept nails. The big city was never a good idea. It’s a place where Mafias, crimes, and almost everything bad breeds. She wondered what kind of entity possessed Dipper to pursue a career in such dangerous place. She did try to influence both Stans not to let Dipper go, but they just gave him a pat on the back, and muttered words of encouragement, to which Dipper was ecstatic to hear. This only fueled Mabel’s worry.

“Of course,” Dipper replied as he stuffed the few clothing he owned inside his duffel bag. He made a beeline towards his bedside table and retrieved his journal, adding it to the things he was going to bring with him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Mabel gave an exasperated groan as she flopped herself on her twin’s bed, her pleated skirt sashaying. Dipper gave her a reassuring smile, but Mabel only pouted in response. “Dippin’ Sauce, you can become a writer here in Gravity Falls! I’m pretty sure some companies are willing to pay you big bucks for your talent!”

“And be like Toby?” Dipper retorted. “I don’t want to sound mean or rude Mabel, but I want something more than just that. And this is not about money.” He closed his bag and gripped his suspenders, satisfied with his work. “And why are you so against this?”

“Dipper it’s not that I don’t trust you-”

“It’s okay, Mabel. Just tell me the truth-”

“I don’t trust you,” Mabel deadpanned, her brother’s face slowly contorting into a frown. “You’re too clumsy for your own good. Chances are- as much as I hate to even contemplate the idea- you’ll die the moment you step off the train,” she admitted, Dipper’s eyebrows raising at her bluntness.

“That’s pessimistic, coming from you,” he muttered, sitting down beside his sister and gently taking her hand. “Mabel...” he started, his twin still worriedly watching him. “Trust me on this. Besides, I got Pacifica to look out for me there. I’m pretty sure she won’t just forget about me.”

“She better not or someone’s gonna get the biggest slap of their entire life!” Dipper chuckled at that. Soon Mabel followed along. As their laughter receded, Mabel leaned her head on her brother’s shoulder.

“Sometimes I wished Paz hadn’t made that offer. It’s obvious that you’re too gullible-”

“Hey!” Dipper intervened.

“-to accept the offer,” Mabel continued as if he hadn’t spoken up. She turned to him and tried a smile, which looked obviously forced. “I’m going to miss you, bro-bro,” she said quietly, Dipper replying with a sad smile.

“I’m going to miss you too, Mabes,” he said, ruffling Mabel’s long, brown locks. Mabel extended her arms outward and smiled sheepishly.

“Awkward sibling hug?” she proposed, trying to cheer herself up for her brother’s sake. She didn’t want her twin to leave, but what can she do? Dipper is as stubborn as a mule. The only thing that she could actually do was to be happy for him.

“Awkward sibling hug,” Dipper affirmed, and immediately pulled his twin in an embrace. He buried his face in Mabel’s hair, taking in his sister’s scent. “I’m going to miss you. A lot,” he mumbled as tears threatened to flow down his cheeks.

Mabel, on the other hand, didn’t even try to suppress hers, and cried as she returned the hug tightly. “Me too...”

Only God could guide him now.

+++

Dipper stood nervously on the terminal as he waited for his train to arrive. He can’t believe it. He’s actually going to Manhattan! To become a writer! His mixed feelings made him want to throw up, but he restrained himself. He felt Mabel put a hand on his shoulder to assure him.

“Are you okay, bro-bro?” she asked, Dipper clutching his duffel bag tightly. Both Stans were also there to watch him leave for Manhattan.

“Y-Yeah. Just a little anxious about all... this,” he stuttered, trying his best to calm himself down and not make a fool out of himself. He started to tap his right foot in an attempt to do so.

“You just gotta remember, kid...” his Grunkle Stan started, draping an arm on his shoulders. “Don’t let the cops catch you if you’re up to something illegal there!” He chuckled loudly, his twin shoving him away from the boy. “Hey!” he cried indignantly.

“Don’t listen to him, Dipper. If you just stick to the clean jobs then I’m pretty sure the city life you always wanted would be yours!” Ford assured him, Dipper smiling up to him. His great uncle Stan was a great man, sure. But great uncle Ford was amazing. Both of them shared the same interest, and could go and talk for hours nonstop.

Their conversation was interrupted when the train signaled its arrival. Mabel’s face immediately shifted to concern. When the train stopped in front of them, Dipper turned to his only remaining family. “This is it,” he declared, a determined look on his face.

“It is...” Both Stans muttered. Dipper ran up to both of them and pulled them into a big hug, catching the other pair of twins off guard. Ford immediately relaxed and hugged back, while Stan awkwardly returned it.

“I’m gonna miss you. Both of you,” he muttered to them. When Dipper realized Mabel was not joining in, he pulled away from both Stans and turned to his twin. “Mabes?” he called only to be greeted with the teary-eyed face of his sister. “Aw c’mon Mabes. We agreed not to cry here-” he was cut off when Mabel tackled-hugged him.

“I know. Just going to miss my little bro. Make sure you’ll take care of yourself,” she muttered quietly, Dipper playfully protesting at being called ‘little brother’.

“Of course. And Mabel, you’re older than me for only 5 minutes,” Dipper stated a matter-of-factly, only to have Mabel shush him.

“Hush! Don’t ruin the mood!” she cheekily grumbled as she tightened the embrace, Dipper returning it with the same fervor. When the train signaled for its departure, Dipper gently patted Mabel on the back.

“Mabes, you’ll make me miss the train.”

“That was the plan, dummy,” she chuckled as she pulled away. They smiled at each other before Dipper jogged and hopped onto the train, hands still tightening around the duffel bag. “Call when you get there!” Mabel yelled loud enough for Dipper to hear.

Dipper poked his head from a nearby train window and shouted in response, “I will!” Mabel watched somberly as her brother disappeared from her sight. Stan patted her head to indicate that they were leaving. As she turned around, Dipper poked his head back out again. “Take care guys! I love you always!” he yelled as the train chugged away.

“We love you too!” Mabel shouted back.

+++

Ah, Manhattan.

Dipper watched from his booth as the train slowly skidded to a stop. He finally reached Manhattan! Dipper could hardly contain his excitement. Ever since he was 12, he had always wanted to go to the city. Great uncle Ford had told him stories about it; from the bright city lights to the busy night life, it was too different from Gravity Falls.

Damn, he was ecstatic!

He immediately retrieved the small belongings he brought with him, and dove among the crowd hastily trying to get off the train. When he was finally out of the bustle, Dipper searched the terminal for that familiar tuft of probably fake blonde hair. When he cannot find who he was looking for, Dipper started to (slightly) panic.

“Oh no. Oh no. Where is she?” he mumbled as he still desperately scanned the crowd, breathing turning ragged and beads of sweat forming on his forehead. None. Where is she?! When he thought he was about to faint then and there, a slim woman stood in front of him.

It was Pacifica.

“And what are you doing?” she scoffed, offering him a hand to calm him down. Dipper took it gratefully. Pacifica Elise Northwest, daughter of the richest couple in Gravity Falls. When the twins met her, they weren’t immediately the best of friends. Pacifica was bitchy and mean, especially to those who she considered ‘not of her level’.

But after an incident involving him, Mabel, and her parents, Pacifica had considered them the closest friends she got. Now, they hang out in the shack or the forest whenever they can, away from the prying eyes of Pacifica’s controlling parents.

One time, when they were sitting on the shack’s porch, Dipper had shared his dreams of becoming a writer in the big city to the girl.

“Why don’t you?” she asked as she worked on the scarf she was knitting, a hobby she picked from Mabel. “You’re quite talented when it came to that field, what’s stopping you?” Dipper mumbled a few incoherent words, making her stop from knitting to look at him with a raised eyebrow.

Dipper groaned before he spoke up, “I’m just a measly country bumpkin, Paz. I won’t survive there. ‘Sides, how am I even gonna get there?” he grumbled, exasperated. When Pacifica’s expression didn’t change one bit, he gave her a look of slight annoyance. “You’re rich, Pacifica. Of course that’s an easy feat for you. I, on the other hand...” he gestured to the shack and shrugged. Pacifica only rolled of her eyes and resumed her knitting, the subject dropped and probably forgotten.

That’s what Dipper thought until one day, Pacifica offered him a position in their publishing company located in Manhattan. Dipper, of course, immediately jumped at the offer, and though he found it quite awkward, pulled Pacifica in an embrace due to his ecstasy.

Which now led him here in the big city with Pacifica holding his hand to ease his anxious nerves. When he deemed he was okay, he slowly stood himself straight, and let go of the woman’s hand. He faked a cough and dusted a nonexistent soot off his long overcoat just to ease the awkwardness.

“T-Thanks...” he stuttered while giving Pacifica a sheepish smile. Even though the girl had known about how easily nervous he could get, he still feels embarrassed about it. “S-Sorry ‘bout that. Just anxious about all... this.”

Pacifica gave him a reassuring smile, hooking her hands to his arm. “It’s okay. But believe me, you’ll gonna get used to this place in less than an hour,” she replied, dragging the boy towards the exit. To any passerby, they would look like a couple and truth be told, neither of them mind. Back in Gravity Falls, they were teased a lot by the townsfolk, saying they would make a great one. It was awkward for them at first, but both got easily over it, especially when Pacifica confessed to Dipper about her attraction to his twin. It surprised Dipper, but he was actually pretty cool with it. In fact, he helps Pacifica when it comes to wooing his sister.

But despite Mabel being an ‘expert matchmaker’, she was quite blind to notice Pacifica’s efforts. Still, that did not stop him and Pacifica.

Dipper was snapped out of his reverie when the colorful lights of the city assaulted his eyes, brighter than all the lights in Gravity Falls combined. His jaw went slack, hands gripping his duffel bag tightly. He’s here! It’s not a dream anymore! He is really in the big city of Manhattan! Dipper’s head whipped around as he took the sight around him. Fancily dressed people, seemingly endless stream of cars, colorful billboards, and catchy music coming from pubs and bars. It was all like how Ford described it.

Full of life.

A grin slowly made its way to Dipper’s face, a burst of energy immediately swirling through him, his previous anxiousness already dissolving. In his excitement, he pulled Pacifica with him as they passed by a casino. “Is this what they call a casino?! God, it’s huge!” he cried in excitement, making Pacifica chuckle lightly. Dipper turned to her, making her snickering stop.

“What?” she asked, confused. Dipper just shook his head and motioned for her to lead the way.

“Nothing. It’s just that I thought you’d get humiliated by being seen with a bumpkin,” he stated, earning him an elbow to his side. His grin widened as he raised an eyebrow to the girl. “W-What?”

Pacifica rolled her eyes at him and lugged him a little harshly. “Shut up, dweeb. I’m not who I used to be,” she huffed, expertly avoiding a tipsy man holding a bottle of whiskey in his hand. Her faced scrunched in disgust as she caught the scent of said man. “God, he reeked!” she complained when they were a little farther away.

Dipper laughed as he let Pacifica guide him around the city. Come to think of it, she hadn’t told him where they were going. “So, where we headin’?” he asked to the blonde. Pacifica slowed her pace so Dipper could fall into step with her.

“To your flat, dummy. I was actually thinking of taking a cab, but I guessed you’d want to explore the city on foot,” she replied casually, huffing as she adjusted her frock coat.

“Well if you’re uncomfortable, I don’t mind taking the cab,” he said, feeling guilty for letting Pacifica travel by ‘peasant’ means. Pacifica just gave him a reassuring smile, but froze when a mob of finely dressed men appeared from a corner. She immediately pulled Dipper to the side, the boy yelping at the sudden movement. He made eye contact in an attempt to ask her silently, but Pacifica just gave him a ‘don’t question my motives’ look, and continued to stride forward. The boy noticed her becoming tenser than usual.

He glanced at the finely dressed men. Whoever they were, people seemed to fear them as everyone parted like the Red Sea when the group walked past. What caught his attention was the man who was leading them. He had a black fedora with golden lining perched atop his asymmetrical golden locks styled in an undercut, the lower part a rich brown. He has an eye patch obscuring his right eye, giving him an image of an enigma. His black and golden pinstripe suit along with his gold tipped pointed shoes screamed expensive and ‘You can never afford me!’. He guessed that the man might be in the same status as Pacifica, which led him to wonder why she was acting so frightened. 

He turned to look at Paz who was on stealing glances at said men. Who were they to gain such-

Dipper was snapped out of his trance when the man he had been examining earlier bumped his shoulder, causing him to fall down on his ass, Pacifica immediately letting go of his arm as to not tumble down with him. He muttered curses under his breath, while he nursed his butt because of the impact. Pacifica ran to his side and slowly helped him stand up. He heard people gasp as the man that he bumped into stopped to scrutinize him.

“Oh no...”

“Poor boy.”

“That woman should have just run off while she still can.”

Those were the things Dipper heard as he dusted soot off his coat, Pacifica avoiding eye contact with the leader (because he looked like their leader). He probably should too, considering that almost everyone here feared the man, but instead he just glared back at him. He wondered where the surge of confidence and defiance came from (especially when he was super anxious just moments ago), but he did not dwell on it as his mouth decided to grant him his death wish.

“You should really apologize to people you bump into,” he scorned, trying to add more venom in his words. The blond man just quirked an eyebrow at him, while the men with him, probably his underlings, sneered at Dipper. “Manners are important, especially to people of your status.”

“You’re quite disrespectful huh, bitch?” one muttered, and was probably about to give him his grand tour to heaven (Mabel was right about him), but an outstretched arm stopped him before he could do anything.

“Hush, Valentino. I’ll take care of this,” the man said, voice a little too high for someone who was so intimidating. Dipper would have laughed if it weren’t for his impending vacation to heaven. The man strode closer, gloved hands clasped in front of his chest. Dipper looked up. The man was taller than he was, Dipper groaning inwardly. Despite being 25, Dipper was only a few inches taller than Pacifica without her heels. Yet the man in front of him surely knew what the weather up there feels like. “I am very sorry for bumping into you, oh royal highness,” the man mocked, bowing a little lower for emphasis.

It hit a nerve.

As he was about to retort something rude and nasty, Pacifica pulled him to her side, and stepped in front of him to do damage control. “I am so sorry about his horrible manners, dear sirs. I promise he won’t do it again,” she apologized, covering Dipper’s mouth as he tried to open them again. When the man only replied with a smirk, Pacifica took it as a cue to tow the poor boy away with her. Dipper sputtered protests, but Pacifica just glared daggers at him and did not stop.

Dipper took one last glance at the man, only to be greeted by a golden iris examining him with mild interest.

+++

“Are you crazy?!” Pacifica cried when they were far enough from the group of men. She paced back in forth in front of Dipper, fanning herself with her hands as if she was hyperventilating. “Going against him?! I thought you were anxious?! Where did all of it go?!”

“C’mon Paz, what he did was rude!” Dipper answered, eyes darting back to where the commotion happened. Pacifica just groaned louder, grabbing his lapels and giving him the best death glare she could muster.

“If you want to survive in this city, Dipper Pines...” she hissed, Dipper cringing at the use of his full name. Wow, Paz is really pissed off. “Never. Talk. Back. To. The. Mafia.” she sneered, punctuating every word as if drilling it into his head.

The Mafia? Did he just answer back to a Mafia member? And could it be that it was the boss?

Pacifica let go of him and adjusted her coat. “Sorry. Just panicked,” she apologized, hooking her hand to his arm. Dipper dumbly nodded as Pacifica gave him a forced smile. “Let’s just get dinner first. That thing you did there made numbers to my stomach,”

“Okay then...” Dipper hesitantly chuckled as he followed Pacifica into a fancy looking Italian restaurant.

+++

Bill Cipher smiled as he remembered the boy’s defiant look. _What a daring child_ , he thought to himself. His strides became more bouncy, his men wondering what got into him.

“Are you alright, boss?” the man with inky black hair, Valentino, asked. Bill just waved a hand to assure them that he was.

“Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?” he replied casually, enjoying the view of the people immediately parting for them. _I feel like Moses_ , he thought, snickering at the idea. As far as he knew, he was nowhere near to Moses’ ankle to be considered holy.

“Well, that boy disrespected you...”

Bill chuckled, catching his underling off guard. He clasped both of his hands, and slightly turned to look at Valentino. “Well he’s feisty one! I like him! The people of this city aren’t fighting back anymore and it gets a little...” he paused, looking for the right word, “...boring.”

Valentino’s face contorted into confusion at his Boss’ explanation, to which Bill just waved another hand, obviously to dismiss the topic. No matter how much he explained, his underlings would never understand. He let his hand fall to the side, humming a tune only he could hear.

Funny would it be if he could meet that fascinating boy again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and criticisms are greatly appreciated, guys!


	2. A Rather Eventful Night Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who did research! *points to self*  
> And by research, I mean Wikipedia...  
> Also, warnings for gunshots and death threats cause I don't want to trigger anyone...

“Welcome to your new apartment, dork.”

Pacifica stepped to the side to let Dipper take a good look at his new home. His eyes went wide as he scanned the flat the Northwest girl gave to him, free. He turned to look at Pacifica dumbly, who only raised an eyebrow at him, but immediately returned his attention back to the room.

“No... Way...” he muttered in disbelief, eyes landing to the plush twin bend located at the left-side corner of the room. Beside it, a mahogany drawer sat idly, its hinges made from brass metals. Dipper then glanced at the floor, gently trudging a foot on the dark oak wood, eyes slowly trailing to the cream colored walls that accented it perfectly. He poked a head to look at the fully furnished kitchen, every utensil pristine and brand new. When he turned to Pacifica, he noticed the mahogany door of the bathroom, a rosewood closet perched near it.

After examining the entirety of the room, he stared at Pacifica accusingly. “Okay, what’s the catch?” he asked, eyeing the girl and placing both hands on his hips.

“Dipper!” Pacifica gasped in faux offense. She strode with grace towards the boy, bringing a hand to her chest as if she was offended. “There is no ulterior motive behind all this! All I want to do is to help!” she said somberly, shaking her head in disappointment.

Dipper rolled his eyes as he smiled at the girl. “Paz, you know I will always help you when it comes to Mabel...” he said, earning him an ecstatic grin from the girl. _Knew it_ , he thought to himself. “But isn’t this an overkill? This is too much!” he exclaimed whilst gesturing around them.

Now it was Pacifica’s turn to roll her eyes. She crossed her arms over her chest, and smiled warmly at the boy. “Of course not!” she defended, slowly making her way to the door and Dipper following behind her. “Consider this a gift from your future sister-in-law,” she chuckled, her eyes landing on the telephone that sat beside the radio, one that Dipper missed earlier. The brunet followed her line of vision, mouth hanging ajar once more. “You should really call your family-”

“And a telephone!” Dipper exclaimed, and made a beeline towards the said device. He needed to call Mabel and the Stans. Knowing them, they’re probably worried sick, considering he traveled across the country just so he could pursue his dreams.

As he was about to grab the receiver and dial the shack’s number, Pacifica spoke up. “Well, I’m leaving now. I still have a party to attend to. Enjoy your new home, dweeb.” Dipper, not wanting Pacifica to think that chivalry was dead, returned the receiver and jogged right next to her.

“W-Wait, I’ll accompany you!” he suggested, adjusting his slightly battered coat.

“No need. I’ll be fine on my own,” Pacifica politely declined. She nodded towards the receiver, Dipper looking at the phone over his shoulder. “You better call Mabel. She’s top priority.”

Dipper shook his head. “You’re top priority,” he retorted, accompanying Pacifica outside his flat. “I don’t know what Mabel will do to me once she finds out I just let you wander around alone at night.” He turned to lock the door, but before he could, he remembered he doesn’t have the key.

“Here,” Pacifica called out, throwing the key for him to catch. Dipper almost missed, but he managed to grasp it.

When he was done with the task, he returned to the girl’s side, offering his arm. Pacifica took it and both of them slowly descended down the stairs. When they reached the sidewalk, Dipper spotted her chauffeur as he opened the door of a black 1937 Pontiac De Luxe sedan. Both of them trudged toward the vehicle.

“You had a chauffeur waiting for you here?” he whispered, eyes not leaving the car. “Why didn’t you made him wait on the station? You could have saved yourself from all that walking,” he mused, bewildered.

“I rather have him wait here,” she replied as they neared the car. “I know you Dipper. You love venturing new places by foot.” Pacifica let go of his arm and faced him. “Thanks for escorting me. I’ll make sure Mabel knows about this.” She winked and entered the vehicle, her chauffeur slamming the door close as he glowered at Dipper. Dipper winced at the chauffeur’s threatening glare.

“Thank you for escorting the Madame,” he growled and entered the driver’s side of the car. _Yeesh_ , Dipper thought. _Talk about overprotective_. Pacifica poked her head through the window, and smiled apologetically as the car drove away. Dipper waved back in reply.

When the car was out of sight, Dipper let his hand fall to his side and decided that it was time to call Mabel. He feared that his twin had chewed the entirety of her nails off in worry. Now that’s something Mabel would blame him for. He chuckled at the thought and spun on his heels, slowly making his way back to his room.

+++

Dipper placed the receiver of the cradle telephone back down, a gentle smile gracing his lips. Talking with Mabel always lightened his mood, especially now that she’s not here with him. The loud chatter and the cheerfulness that his sister always possessed are enough to make him feel like he was still back in the shack. Leaning on his chair, he looked out the window in front him that showed the bright city lights illuminating the entire city. Despite Manhattan being a crowded place, Pacifica had chosen him a nice, peaceful apartment a few feet away from the center. It really surprised him how Pacifica bore all of that walking.

Quietly humming to himself, Dipper glanced up at the grandfather clock beside his table, a surge of curiosity swirling through his body. Dipper was an adventurer by heart, and being in a new place, made him want to know the place all by himself. He remembered the first day they arrived in the Falls, the day after their parents’ funeral, and the feeling he got when he ran off to venture the forest.

Besides, it was still 10 in the evening. What could possibly go wrong? 

He nodded as he came to a decision and stood up, accidentally dragging the chair across the wooden floor. He cringed at the noise it made. Man, he should really be careful. The flooring was made from genuine oak, far from the soft pine wood they have in the shack. He lifted the chair as he returned it right next to the desk.

Dipper retrieved his battered overcoat from the coat rack after he got his wallet from his bag. He slid it on, went out of his flat, locked the door, and pocketed both his keys and wallet. He was still not familiar with the neighborhood and doesn’t have a map with him. Well, he’ll just try to remember some landmarks. That way, he could easily come back if he wanders too much.  

As he reached the ground floor, he noticed how his neighbors seemed to have turned in early. Was 10 early? Well, he considers himself a night owl, of course 10 pm was still early for him. Shaking his head, he slipped by the sleeping guard with a raised eyebrow. He was not one to tell people how to do their jobs, but just because there’s nothing major happening doesn’t mean he should be slacking off. He sighed and decided to start his walk.

The cold night air seeped through his coat, Dipper slightly regretting his little excursion. Despite the long trip he took to get here, fatigue still has not overcome his body and mind, and returning to his flat would surely bore him to death. He had walked too far when he finally noticed how the streets were deserted.

According to great uncle Ford, big cities hardly get empty even if it was past midnight. So where are the people? Was this because of where his apartment was located? He turned his head to look at the shops that surrounded the area, which were already closed, some even barricaded with metal. His eyes squinted in utter curiosity.

Sensing danger, his years venturing the forest heightening both his instincts and senses, he started to turn around. But before he can do so, he spotted a lone shop whose owner hastily tried to close up. He jogged towards the frantic-looking man as he fumblingly reached for the metal roll up door.

“Uhm, evening?” he greeted, earning a yelp from the shop owner. The man instantly crouched low, covering his head as if protecting himself from a hard blow. Dipper was caught off guard at the man’s strange reactions. He gently placed a hand on his shoulder, trying his best to calm the frightened man down. “A-Are you okay?”

The man warily turned his head to look at Dipper, and instantly relaxed even with eyes- or his single visible eye- watering. He shakily stood up, cheeks tinging pink due to embarrassment. Dipper noticed that the man has unnaturally pale blonde hair accenting his tanned complexion. A sapphire blue eye examined him carefully before he looked away, a white medical eye patch covering his left one.

“S-Sorry...” he mumbled before nervously glancing around. He grasped both Dipper’s arms, a wary look plastered on his face. “W-Why are you still out at this hour?” Without further explanation, he jumped high enough to grab the metal roll up door, and pulled it down, padlocked its hinges, and ushered Dipper towards the back door, his head examining their surroundings worriedly.

Dipper, who was still stunned at the man’s sudden actions, was not able to protest. Sure his parents had warned him about talking to and following strangers, but the man seemed frightened enough to even pull a simple dirty trick.

After the man had locked the door, he turned to Dipper. He pursed his lips into a thin line and seemed to not know what to do.

Awkward silence settled in the air around them until Dipper broke it, “Any explanation why I’m here?” The man snapped his head to him, tears welling on the corner of his eye before looking away, and fiddled with his fingers.

“You shouldn’t be taking a stroll at this hour...” he explained, eye focused on his hands. “Not safe...”

Dipper raised an eyebrow in wonder. How dangerous was this place to warrant an unwanted invitation into another person’s house?  He crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you mean?” he asked, curious. The shop owner opened his mouth to answer, but clamped it when a single gunshot rang loudly, disturbing the serenity of the night.

Both Dipper and the man crouched low, the former covering his ears and the latter his head. They heard another shot, and another, and another, until things quieted again. Both looked up only to hear another series of shots, instantly returning their hands to their heads.

“W-What’s happening?!” Dipper asked as gunshots continued to resonate around the area, the shop owner mumbling words of assurances to himself. There were shouting, a roar of a submachine gun, and screams that lasted for what Dipper mused was 30 minutes, before he heard car tires screeching away, gunshots slowly fading to faint. He wondered what could have happened. The police and a dangerous criminal? If that’s the case, then he should have heard sirens. He was snapped out from his thoughts when the shop owner lifted his head, trying to figure out if the commotion was still near their area.

“They’ve left...” he muttered, his shoulder visibly sagging as he relaxed. He slumped on the door behind him, and let out a sigh of relief.

“Who left?” Dipper asked, both out of fear and curiosity.

“The Mafia.”

Dipper tensed as he recalled his earlier encounter with them that evening. Of how people seemed to bow down before them. Of how Pacifica instantly turned into a saint from being the… well how she usually is. It seemed like the Mafia had this city on the palm of their hands.

“They can just do that? Wreak havoc and leave? What did the government do to stop this? You’re all okay living in constant fear?” he babbled as his thoughts ran to a million mile. The shop owner looked at him, and smiled sadly. 

“W-Well, Senator Estes Kefauver once chaired a special U.S. committee to determine the Mafia in 1951,” the shop owner said as Dipper watched him with newfound interest. Dipper was not one to usually judge a person by looks, but he never expected this man to remember things like those. He seemed to be the type to just go with the flow.  “T-This made the FBI recognize the existence of these mobsters and initiate the ‘Top Hoodlum Program’.”

“Top Hoodlum Program?” Dipper felt embarrassment surge through him. He had heard about the Mafia, but he didn’t know about this one. And he even prided himself for knowing almost every societal issues that existed. He had never felt so dumb in his entire lifetime.

The man nodded slowly before continuing, “It’s to... uh... It’s a program to have agents gather info on each mobsters in their own territories and report regularly to Washington. To... you know... maintain a collection of intelligence on these... criminals?” Dipper noticed how the shop owner’s face scrunched up in what looked like disgust, but it was easily gone as it went. “So, you s-see? The authorities aren’t really slacking off...” He smiled at Dipper, but it immediately turned into a disappointed one. “Too bad almost every law enforcer and politician in this city are bought...” he mumbled under his breath. Still, Dipper had caught it.

“Bought?”

“W-Well, y-yeah. They are bribed by the Mafia to allow crimes to happen. Those mobsters literally own this city.” The shop owner rubbed his nape and looked away. “I’m guessing you’re new here so you might haven’t noticed, but there are a lot of illegal trade here in Manhattan. The peaceful yet lively ambiance you saw upon arriving was just a facade to attract tourists to come here. Plus, riots just so happen wherever they wanted.” The owner looked up the ceiling, and went quiet.

Silence once settled, and Dipper contemplated on everything he had learned. If the men he encountered a while ago were the Mafia, then that must mean they were the ones who had Manhattan as their territory. Come to think of it, he hadn’t asked the shop owner what family owned the city of his dreams.

“So, who owns Manhattan?”

The owner tensed at his question, gaze searching his own and making dipper slightly uncomfortable. After a few seconds of what felt like hours, the shop owner looked away and fiddled with his thumbs again.

“The Cipher Crime Family.”

Silence.

The shop owner stood up and offered a hand to Dipper, the boy caught off guard. “I think it’s safe to go out now,” he muttered as Dipper took his hand, and was pulled up with a grunt. He let go of Dipper’s hand when he regained his balance.

“Uh, thanks,” Dipper said as he dusted his coat off of the soot that clung to it. “You know, for saving and letting me into your house despite me being a complete stranger.”

The shop owner chuckled, while he politely waved a hand to dismiss his show of gratitude. “It’s nothing. Who would help each other if we wouldn’t?” Dipper smiled at him before the man unlocked the back door, poked his head out to make sure everything was okay, and turned to Dipper. “Everything’s clear now,” he muttered as he stepped to the side to let Dipper out. “You should go straight home. No more detours.”

“I will. Thanks again,” he said as he walked past the man, only to receive a curt nod in reply. He was a few meters away from the door when he remembered that he wasn’t able to ask his savior’s name. “Oh yeah, I hadn’t caught your na-” he asked as he spun on his heels, but stopped when he was met with a closed door.

Dipper raised an eyebrow. That man must really fear the Mafia. He contemplated whether to knock on the door and ask the man about his name, but decided against it. He doesn’t want to bother him anymore. He had already caused him too much trouble. Spinning on his heels, Dipper cautiously trudged on the isolated sidewalk. His eyes caught the empty canisters of bullets, proof that there had been an exchange of gunshots in said place. He saw traces of blood, and pried his eyes away from it. He quickened his pace, fear dwelling on his chest.

Maybe Mabel was right. Maybe coming here in Manhattan was a bad idea. He should have listened to his sister and just be content with what Gravity Falls could offer him. He pursed his lips into a thin line, shoving a hand into his pocket just to make sure he still has his keys and wallet with him. He sighed in relief as he felt them against his hands.

Dipper almost tripped when he noticed movement from the clump of trees in an empty, unused lot. He eyed the trees warily as a shape emerged from it. A shining object caught his eyes as the figure neared, and instantly froze when he realized that it was actually a golden 1850s Percussion Revolver held and pointed directly to his head by no one else but the man who he bumped earlier, and who he assumed was the leader of the crime family that owned Manhattan.

The only difference now from earlier was the blood-covered gloved hand covering his side, the same blood staining what used to be a clean pinstripe suit. His breathing was labored and his fedora was awry. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and he seemed willing enough to kill Dipper this time around.

Dipper was paralyzed in his place as the Mafioso opened his mouth to speak, the words making him realize why the man was feared.

“Help me, kid and I assure you that you’ll still see the sun shine tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, Dipper, you're a real trouble magnet huh?


	3. A Rather Eventful Night Part 2

What Bill Cipher meant about the hilarity of being able to meet the boy again, he did not mean it like this. Sure pain is something he would definitely laugh at, but concerning the predicament he is in right now, he could hardly give a damn about what he considers funny or not.

He groaned in pain as the boy adjusted his hold on him, hand tightening on his golden revolver, trigger ready to be pulled anytime if ever he decided to ditch him. He noticed how the boy kept on stealing nervous glances, lips pursed into a thin line. The boy’s breathing was quick and shallow, like he was trying to calm himself from an oncoming panic attack.

“R-Relax, kid,” Bill muttered, eyes abruptly meeting the brunet’s, “I ain’t gonna clip you if you just follow my orders.” An anxious laughter followed his reassurance, Bill quirking an eyebrow. He smirked/grimaced at the boy’s discomfort. Despite the kid acting gutsy and all, he was still a lamb that fears the sheep dog.

But Bill was much more than a sheep dog.

“I-I should really bring you to a hospital,” the brunet said as they continued their trudge towards wherever they were going. If only he had known where his brother resided, then he wouldn’t be here right now being half-carried/half-dragged to God knows where. “T-They would be able to help you much more than I ca-”

“Listen here, kid,” he interrupted, his face contorting into disapproval. Does he really not get it? And here Bill thought the lad was wittier than the average human. With the way he sneered at Bill earlier, one would easily assume that he was someone who is smart.

Well, someone too smart for his own good.

“If we go to the hospital, nurses will ask for information. And what do they do with that information?” he paused for a few seconds, giving the brunet a chance to answer. Bill could almost hear the gears turning under that fluffy tuft of brown hair. The boy pursed his lips into a thin line, indicating that he fully understood what Bill meant. “Ding ding ding! Now, ya dig it!” Bill coughed blood, the red fluid dribbling down his chin. He pressed a hand on the wound located on his side to at least slow the blood loss down.

The boy glanced around nervously before speaking up, “I-I thought you had every enforcer of the law bought in he-”

Bill cut the boy off with a click of his revolver. “Shush,” he warned the boy before letting his hand holding the revolver droop again. “Inquisitiveness sometimes lead to people being buried six feet under. I suggest you close that pretty little mouth of yours before it says something both of us wouldn’t like.” He bobbed his head, and watched the clicking of his pointed shoes on the hard pavement. “Now, I wouldn’t wanna harm that cute face of yours,” he cooed, earning him a creeped out look from the brunet.

Uncomfortable silence settled between the two of them until the boy stopped on his tracks. Bill raised his head to see what had caused it. He followed the boy’s gaze, vision landing on a brick-walled building a few meters from where they stood. He turned his head to look at the boy before he returned it to the building.

“Your apartment?” he asked, the brunet nodding dumbly. Bill gave him a questioning look. “Then what are we waiting for?”

The boy shook his head, his gaze shifting to the sleeping guard in front of the entryway. Bill looked at the poor excuse of a security guard, and nudged the boy to start moving. 

“H-He’ll see us,” he mumbled, but still continued at the Mafioso’s nudging. Bill just gave out a light chuckle, the boy’s apprehensive eyes glancing to him.

“Don’t worry,” he assured, a finger extended to click the revolver. “He won’t.”

The boy’s eyes widened. It was clear with the way he looked at Bill that he wanted to push the criminal away and run flat out. Instead, he looked away and trudged closer and closer to the building. Bill’s single visible eye widened at the boy’s actions.

Interesting. The boy is simply interesting.

He could see the boy breathe in deeply, a determined look plastered on his face. “Please don’t,” he pleaded as their strides became faster and faster. “I’ll figure out a way.”

A smirk immediately graced Bill’s lips.

+++

Sneaking past the guard was actually a lot easier than what Dipper initially thought. The security guard was pretty knocked out that even the loudest of sounds could probably never wake him up. Though, Dipper still scoffed at his carelessness, even if it was the main reason why he was still not apprehended and have another gun pointed at his head. He already got one, he doesn’t need another.

Both of them ascended the stairs slowly, careful at not doing anything that can worsen the Mafioso’s condition. If Dipper could, he would definitely push the man off the stairs and let him tumble down to his death. Too bad he’s not that kind of person.

And he rather not have an entire family after his head.

Dipper awkwardly reached down into the pocket of his now bloodstained overcoat to grab his keys. He felt the biting cold of the metal and snatched it, unlocked the door and hurried to drag the injured man towards his room.

Dipper carefully placed the man on his bed, his face scrunching as realization hit him that his bedsheets would probably get stained and oh God, how is he going to explain that to Pacifica? He shook his head to clear his thoughts and focus on the task at hand: help the damned man and not get his head blown off.

After he was sure that the Mafioso was as comfortable as his injury allowed him to be, he jogged back to the door to close it. He locked it right after checking the flooring to see if the man’s blood had been dripping too much, where it could leave a bloody trail towards his flat. He sighed when he saw nothing. Dipper returned to the man’s side, frantically shoved his coat off, and started pacing.

“O-Okay... What now?” he stammered, pulling his hair in frustration and panic. What was he supposed to do in this kind of situation? He didn’t graduate from a medical school! He was just a novelist with a degree in literature!

The man tried to even his breathing, awkwardly adjusting himself into a more comfortable position. He placed the revolver beside him and threw his fedora away. Seeing the man struggling at removing his suit, Dipper assisted him, carefully avoiding the wound on the man’s side. After the coat came the vest and tie, which were all haphazardly thrown to the floor.

“Here’s what you’re going to do, kid,” he gasped as he rested his head on the bed’s headboard. His breathing was shallow, and he struggled at forming his words. “Grab some tweezers-”

“No fucking way in hell am I going to do that!” Dipper cried as he stepped back away from the bed, only to earn an irate look from the blond. He never trusted himself in self-medication. That was Mabel’s forte. Asking him to do an impromptu surgery was just too much.

“I’m going to bleed to death here,” the man grumbled before grabbing his revolver and clicking it. “You wouldn’t want me to use this on you.” Dipper froze at the threat and immediately went to the bathroom, hoping that there were tweezers in the first aid kit. He grabbed the entire box and rushed to the bed, the Mafioso placing his revolver back down.

The brunet knelt beside the bed, rummaging the kit to look for tweezers. He almost cried in happiness as he found the item he was looking for. He stood up to look at the blond, and readied himself to do what he thinks he’s just about to do. He unbuttoned the yellow shirt and leaned over to inspect the wound. He immediately cringed at the sight.

He positioned himself to get a better angle and after doing so, prodded the sides of the wound in search for the bullet. The man’s face contorted in pain as Dipper kept on trying to remove the mangled flesh that still clung to the Mafioso’s wound.

“I-I think I need a knife...” he mumbled as he left the man and went to the kitchen, returning with a small butter knife. The blond raised an eyebrow in question, face still grimacing. “What? At least it’s not sharp enough to actually impale you.”

Resuming his work, Dipper used his makeshift scalpel to hold the skin that kept on obscuring the hole. He poked his tweezers in to prod and find the small metal that penetrated the man’s skin. He hoped that it hadn’t went in too deep, but with this amount of blood, he didn’t think so.

He needed a sharper knife.

+++

After 2 excruciating hours of the agonizing torture that was supposed to be a surgery (Bill’s groans at every jab of the tweezers made the brunet silently hope that his neighbors were decent enough not to think that he was currently engaging in a pretty wild sexual intercourse), Dipper had finally removed the bullet that was, thankfully, only lodged between the man’s skin and not in his internal organs. Cleaning the wound and stitching it up was easier than removing the bullet. Dipper sighed in both relief and exhaustion as he gawked at his blood covered hands.

He definitely needed a bath.

Sparing one glance at the resting man, he forced himself to stand up, and made a beeline towards the bathroom. His nose scrunched as he gawked at his face in the mirror, puffing out a breath in annoyance. He shed his clothing and turned the knob of the shower, letting out a contented sigh as he felt the warm water hit his skin and ease his tensed muscles. Dipper glanced down, only to see the water beneath him turn pinkish, blood mixing with the warm tap water. He grabbed the soap and scrubbed himself clean.

Man, he still can’t believe he had done all the things he just did.

After brushing all the blood from his body, he dried himself and wrapped a towel around his waist. He made his way back to his room to retrieve some fresh, dry clothes. As he delved into his duffel bag, he heard the blond coming to consciousness. He tried to hurry before said man could see him indecent.

“Nice view...” the man commented, eye trailing Dipper’s small form. Dipper yelped as he rushed back to the bathroom, giving the man the best glare he could muster, and clothed himself. Okay, that man is definitely creepy. He hoped he would decide to leave early, have his goons fetch him or whatever.

He went out of the bathroom soon after and situated himself on the wooden chair, thankful that blood hadn’t smeared on it. His vision landed on the blond man, who was scrutinizing him in return. Their gazes met in a silent battle, both not wanting to be goaded into surrender.

After minutes of glowering at each other, the man decided to break the silence, “So...” He searched the boy for any indication of a name, but found none and opted instead for the small logo on his sweater. “Pine Tree. What do you do here in good, ol’ Manhattan?” The man adjusted his body to fully face the brunet, face grimacing at the exertion.

Dipper scrunched his nose at the nickname. “Pine Tree?” he mumbled before looking down at his sweater. Of course he’d get the stupid nickname from the sweater. “Don’t call me that,” he spat before shifting on his seat, deciding whether to change or not.

He chose not to.

“What should I call you then?” the blond asked, eyebrows raised in mock curiosity to piss Dipper off. But Dipper won’t fall for it. He pursed his lips and looked away.

“And why should I tell you both my name and the things I do?” Dipper replied, much to the blond’s amusement. His eyes followed the man’s hand as he patted the revolver beside him. Dipper instantly shut his mouth and looked away.

“Well, I don’t want to use threat anymore, given that you had saved me,” the man said as he emptied the gun, but still placing it near him. Dipper’s watched him carefully. He wanted to wake his neighbors, call the police- do something just to get the criminal away from here and him. But he knew better. Doing that would just result to trouble. “So let’s have a game. I ask a question, you’ll answer it and in return, you get to ask a question and I’ll answer,” the man proposed, Dipper giving him a suspicious look. The man rolled his eye and huffed. “I promise to answer honestly. The same applies to you too.”

Dipper considered the offer. Should he trust the man information about him or have a gun pointed at his head again? Well, he should probably just go for the former. “Okay then...” Dipper answered, the man giving him a triumphant smirk.

“May I know my beautiful savior’s name?” the man asked, Dipper getting more and more creeped out at the man’s oddness. He backed his chair farther away from his bed the blond currently occupied.

“Dipper,” he replied, the man quirking an eyebrow. “Dipper Pines.” The blonde suddenly chuckled, then winced due to the pain it slightly caused, Dipper shooting him a dirty look. “W-What?”

The man’s chuckle subsided, bringing up a hand to wipe a non-existent tear on the corner of his single visible eye. He slowly shook his head, eye returning to the brunet. “Nothing. Guess I just gave you the perfect nickname.” The man waved a hand to Dipper, indicating that it was his turn to ask. “And your question?”

Dipper licked his lips before he opened his mouth. “What’s your name?”

The man reached for his hat, but remembered that he had thrown it away moments earlier. He chuckled at the small mistake he made before he answered Dipper’s question. “The name’s Bill! Bill Cipher! Nice to meet ya’!” He gave the brunet a goofy smile as if trying to ease his tense nerves. Too bad it didn’t help.

“So you’re the boss of the Cipher Crime Fa-”

“Nuh-ah-ah!” Bill cut Dipper off, his index finger waving in the air. The boy scowled, obviously pissed at being interrupted. He crossed his arms over his chest as he observed the mobster before him. “One question, one answer and it’s my turn!” Bill chirped. Suddenly, his hands clutched his wound, and he coughed. Dipper reflexively stood up to aid him. He put a hand on the criminal’s shoulder, and gently forced him to lean back to the headboard. The man looked at him gratefully.

“Don’t move too much,” Dipper reprimanded as he returned back to his seat. He could see amusement glinting in the man’s eye, but decided to ignore it instead. “Your wound would reopen.”

“I didn’t take you for the concerned type,” Bill muttered before smiling at the boy. Dipper took a double take, but the smile was easily gone as it came. “Oh right! The question!” the blonde chimed before he made a finger gun and pointed it at Dipper. “What do you do here for a living?”

Dipper hesitated in answering. Should he say that he was about to work in Paz’s publishing house or should he opt to say that he still was jobless since, technically speaking, he would officially start tomorrow. He furrowed his eyebrows before he answered, “Well, I’m starting my job as a writer tomorrow.” Bill nodded and smiled at him expectantly. “So, are you the boss of the Cipher Crime Family?”

Bill hummed and Dipper could see that he was choosing his words carefully. “I am. Are you new here?”

“Well, yeah. I moved in today. What kind of business are you running?”

“Something illegal. What publishing house will you work at?”

“The NW Publishing. Can you be more specific?”

“The usual... gun smuggling, human trafficking. Are you single?”

“Yeah. Why did your underli-” Dipper immediately stopped as the man’s question sank in to him. He looked at the Mafioso incredulously, a shiver running down his spine. Creepy. Definitely creepy. “What? Why-?” He decided to look away, eyes landing to the few books he have on his desk, and chose to turn his attention to them. He randomly picked one up and started reading. He heard the criminal huff a breath.

“And now you ignore me.” He shifted again, trying not to let his wound touch the bed. “Oh c’mon! Don’t tell me my question bothered you! I was just teasing! Would you kindly not leave this poor man alone with his thoughts?”

Dipper looked up from his book. Maybe he should just ignore the man’s oddness and pry more information. “Why did your underlings leave you while you’re bleeding to death?” He placed his book down and turned his eyes back to Bill.

The man just smirked at him, definitely not the response he was expecting. “Au contraire, I have them leave me.” He waved a finger to make sure he had Dipper’s attention. “I wouldn’t want to be stuck on a car chase that could last for hours while bleeding. So I had them leave me here. I’m pretty sure my doctor was staying in this area. Though, I don’t know where he lives.” He shrugged and let the topic drop.

Dipper wanted to ask how he got an underworld doctor living somewhere in this area, but decided not to. The criminal obviously doesn’t want to talk about it. Besides, it’s not his turn to ask. “You could have asked them to drop you to your base or whatever,” he thought aloud, the other chuckling at his comment.

“And let those gangster wannabes know where we are hiding?” he scoffed, eyes rolling as if mocking the boy. “No thank you.” He chuckled slightly at the expression that came up on the boy’s face, before his vision landed on the telephone. He tried to sit himself up, Dipper immediately assisting him.

“What did I tell you about moving?!”

Bill’s face contorted into pain, breathing turning shallow. He gave the boy another one of his smug grins before holding onto his forearm for support.

“I need to make a call. The riot’s probably over.”

Despite him wanting this criminal’s goons to fetch their boss, Dipper’s worry for his life intensified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, I don't have any idea how surgeries work haha
> 
> What Dipper did is not advisable. Please NEVER attempt.


	4. His Plans for Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long pause so... New chapter!!!  
> Are you guys still there?

The screeching of tires against the asphalt indicated the arrival of his underlings, and Bill was extremely pleased at how fast they had responded to his call. Their devotion and loyalty to the crime family fills in for their lack of common sense and to Bill, it was more than enough. Though, he’ll be lying if he said that he didn’t need a gifted member in his mob. After all, having someone with smarts is beneficial to the group.

And he knew just who the perfect candidate was.

The door being kicked open made Bill turn his attention to it, while the boy he was with jolted in his seat, only to fall on the hard, oaken floor. He scoffed at seeing the boy scamper to stand himself as his goons swarmed the room, the once huge apartment (to the boy, probably) now seemingly small with the crowd that had gathered, which to Bill, was just a few of his family’s members.

“Boss!” Valentino cried as he shoved the boy away just to get to his side. The brunet yelped as his body once again made contact with the floor, Valentino not paying him any mind. Bill, of course, glowered at him, the underling slightly squirming at the gaze, but chuckled inwardly at the effect he still had to his goons.

“Now, Valentino,” he almost growled at the now shaking Mafioso. “Don’t be rude to the man who just saved my life.” He gestured for his subordinates to help the boy up- who was still staggering at his feet due to fear or shock, Bill doesn’t know. His underlings immediately obeyed, the Pines kid slightly tensing up at the contact. He shook the criminals’ hands away as he found his equilibrium, the goons sneering at him, which did not go unnoticed by Bill. Welp, some people would definitely get some lecturing later on. “Now, apologize to the lovely young man here,” he ordered, the black haired man whipping his head to incredulously look at him, which he just replied with a quirk of an eyebrow.

“Sorry,” Valentino apologized through gritted teeth. He returned his attention to his boss, assisting him with getting up. With a grunt, Valentino gently hoisted him up, Bill’s face grimacing as his wound ached and felt like it was burning.

So much for the assistance.

Bill’s eye darted to the brunet standing awkwardly in a corner, still contemplating on what to do. His underlings draped his arms on their shoulder, aiding him with walking. He tapped them both, instructing them to turn and face the boy.

Bill smiled at Dipper playfully before speaking his proposal, “I would like to offer you a position...” He waved a hand and immediately, a Mafioso was on Dipper’s side. He handed the brunet a small card with nothing but numbers on it. The boy dumbly stared at it before accepting it, face slowly contorting into confusion.

“What’s this for?” he muttered while he inspected the card in his hand.

The blond huffed, a small smirk gracing his lips. “Yeesh, let me finish!” he chuckled lightly, hands patting his underlings’ shoulders to show his amusement. “As I’ve said earlier, I want to offer you a position...” He paused for a dramatic effect. “…A position to be part of my family! Not the usual way of recruiting, but eh... It will work.” The boy’s chestnut eyes widened in shock, eyes darting back to the card. “It’s a secure connection, don’t worry. And I’ve got eyes anywhere so I suggest you don’t try anything... funny.” He smiled darkly, promising nothing but death if ever he was crossed.

The boy’s eyebrows met before he shoved the card back to the Mafioso who handed it to him, acting as if the card was something that could bite his head off. He gave the best death glare he could muster and directed it to the capo. “No thanks. I don’t need that,” he said, voice in a steely resolve. “Never will I need that.”

Instead of getting pissed off, Bill just shrugged his shoulders. “Well, it’s your choice,” he mumbled before he motioned for his underlings to start moving. He could hear the boy sighing in relief at seeing them leave. But before they could step out of the door, Bill had his underlings halt abruptly. He looked at Dipper over his shoulder, eye gleaming in both threat and interest. “Remember, kid, I’m always watching!” he chimed before they continued walking away from Dipper’s flat.

And always watching he would be.

+++

Dipper slammed the door close even before the mob was out of sight. For that huge number of people to pass through a sleeping guard, they must have done something to him. God, this was all his fault! If only he had decided not to be an idiot for once, then he wouldn’t be stuck in this predicament. He could only hope that the guard was still alive and breathing. His eyes trailed to the bloodstained bed, a groan escaping his chapped lips. Damn, if Pacifica sees this, she’ll definitely flip out.

That’s right. Pacifica.

Dipper scampered towards the telephone, hands fumbling for the receiver. He opened the small notebook beside it, the one Pacifica left with her personal contact number. He rotated the dial, thoughts running to a million mile, as he waited for the blonde to pick up, and almost sighed loudly in relief as Pacifica’s voice chimed in his ear.

“Hello?” Pacifica said groggily, Dipper feeling guilty for disturbing her. “Whoever you are, could it wait ‘til tomorrow? I just came home from the worst party I’ve ever been to and I just want to rest,” she added, voice close to pleading.

“Pacifica! It’s me, Dipper!” he sputtered before the woman could put the receiver down.

“Dipper? What’s up? Is there something wrong?” she asked, worried, despite her groggy voice. “Is there something you need?”

Dipper bit the inside of his cheek, trying his best to form his scrambled thoughts into words. Should he really involve Pacifica in this? The blonde had helped them too much and to Dipper, it felt wrong to get her into a mess she doesn’t deserve to be in. But how would Dipper handle this on his own? Maybe, if he was lucky enough, those criminals would just forget he existed and not bother him anymore. Yeah, that’s a possibility.

“Dipper?” Pacifica called out to him, making sure that the brunet was still there.

“I’m here... uhm...”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, concerned.

“I-uh-I needed some new sheets and comforters...” he said, still debating whether he should tell her or not. His rational thoughts said that he should keep her safe, but his hypothalamus screamed for his life. He pursed his lips as he made his decision. “I kinda spilled some coffee in it like, a whole mug of steaming coffee... Don’t wanna sleep on some soiled bed, you know,” he lied, laughing awkwardly to hide it.

Dipper heard Pacifica groan from the other line. “Dipper Pines, you did not just wake me up for some bedsheets and comforters!” she almost yelled, Dipper wincing at the volume of her voice. He rubbed the back of his neck, his guilt gnawing at him for disturbing and lying to the woman. Well, it wasn’t really a lie since he does need new sheets.

 _Half-truth_ , he settled.

“Sorry...” Dipper could feel her roll her eyes from the other end.

“Yeah, whatever...” she grumbled. “They’re on the topmost part of your closet. Now, goodnight!” Before Dipper could mumble a ‘thanks’, Pacifica had slammed the receiver down, making him flinch slightly. Seems like he really did piss Paz off, the second time tonight.

The brunet returned the receiver back, and placed his hands on his hips. His eyes glanced on his bloodstained bed, and with a huff of his breath, started to strip the sheets off. He silently thanked whoever furnished his flat when he saw that the mattress was still covered with its plastic, the blood only smearing on it. He wiped it off with the stained sheets before he made his way to the bathroom and dumped the sheets on the bathtub. Now what was it Mabel always say about removing blood on clothes?

Oh, right! Use a body soap!

Dipper turned the faucet on to let rinse a few blood off the sheets. He’ll just let it sit in and wash the thing tomorrow, when the blood would easily be washed off. He left the bathroom and went to the closet, fetching the clean sheets and comforters. His eyes trailed the tall furniture, realization dawning on him that he cannot reach the topmost part. Dipper begrudgingly lifted a chair and placed it in front of the closet. If there were times that he hated his height, this was one of those times. After taking what he needed, he proceeded to cover the bare mattress.

When he was done, Dipper could only plop down on his newly sheeted bed, enjoying the smell of clean sheets and comforters. He was thankful the Mafia were finally gone. Now, he could get some peaceful rest. His mind trailed to the events that had transpired in his first night in Manhattan, and he’ll be damned if he wouldn’t admit that it was one hell of an experience.

But that didn’t mean he wanted to experience it again.

+++

On the outskirts of Manhattan, Bill Cipher lounged stiffly on his king-size bed due to his wound that still ached at even the slightest movement. He languidly tapped his fingers on the velvet sheets as he waited for his doctor to arrive. His mind kept on wandering around the boy that had saved him from too much blood loss.

Who would have known that such average looking kid could actually save a very important figure in the Mafia community? Well, definitely not Bill. If he hadn’t gotten that little exchange on the streets, he would assume Dipper was just a hobo who lucky enough to snatch a rich girl from the sides.

Speaking of rich girls, who was that woman he was with? Not that it was any of his business, but a little peek into someone’s life wouldn’t hurt. They hardly resemble each other, so the idea of them being siblings are crossed out. Maybe his girlfriend? Now, isn’t he jumping too much into conclusions? A friend, probably?

His thoughts were cut off as a knock reverberated from the door, which opened even without his consent. The figure that entered, somewhat identical to him in many ways minus the lighter shade of hair the other held, immediately scowled when he saw the currently wounded Bill, the latter just flashing him a goofy smile in response.

“Will!” Bill greeted as his brother stomped closer and closer to his bed, eye never leaving Bill’s amused face. He was thankful that he’s injured or else he’ll have to face his brother’s wrath, and that’s never a good thing, especially to him. Will, despite being unnecessarily shy and meek, was extremely scary when angry. When his brother had reached his bed, Bill’s smile could only widen at the glare that was directed at him. “What brings you here at such hour?”

Will rolled his eyes before dragging a chair and sitting down on it. “Really, Bill?' he said in an ‘I’m so done with your bullshit’ tone.

Bill just waved a hand to try and appease his brother’s worry. “I’m fine, Will. ‘Tis is nothing but a scratch.” The blonde motioned to his wound, bandage new and clean. His brother looked at it with a raised brow, unimpressed at his glorification of the treated wound. “It’s just a small bullet, really...”

“Yeah. A small bullet that left a gaping hole in your stomach,” Will replied, only fueling Bill’s amusement. The blond chuckled at his brother’s concern, Will sneering at him in annoyance. “Seriously, Bill. You should be more careful,” he muttered, standing to inspect the damage on Bill’s side. He forced Bill to lie down, hands fumbling to remove the bandages. “Oh, what would mother say if she was here?”

Bill scoffed at him, eye darting to the mahogany drawer opposite of his bed. “Who knows? We don’t, obviously.” Will stopped examining the wound to look at Bill, the blond refusing to return his gaze. The younger twin just shook his head and resumed what he was doing.

“At least pretend that we know how having one feels like,” he mumbled before he visibly winced at the sight before him. The wound was treated _badly_. Whoever did this obviously had no idea how to do basic first aid. “Who did this? It’s as if a seamstress tried to sew while being drunk,” he commented in mild revulsion.

“Not everyone has a degree in medicine, Will,” Bill replied, face scrunching in absolute pain. “And can you please just do your thing? I just want to rest.” Will nodded before he started cutting the thread that tried to keep the wound closed.

Silence passed as Will focused on giving the wound a proper treatment, while Bill was focused not to move too much to prevent from distracting his twin. His thoughts would constantly flit to the brunet he met that night. He had never met someone as intriguing as the boy; smart and daring, yet at the same, time shy and easily frightened. He considered Will smart, but never had his brother became brave.

“Hey, Will...” he called out, earning him a quiet ‘Hm?’ from his brother. Bill’s lips quirked upward, smile slowly turning into a grin. Will looked at him with a worried eye.

“Okay, what’s up?” the younger twin asked, slightly concerned for his brother’s mental state. Bill could see how his brother was prepared to whisk him away into a mental asylum even at very short notice.

“I met someone today... Or tonight if we consider this technically,” he jovially said, Will slapping his arm to still him. Bill ignored his brother’s slightly harsh treatment and opted instead to continue his story. “He’s quite interesting! Witty, sarcastic, easy to startle but a little brave, mind you. I like him!” Will’s eye only widened in surprise, head slightly shaking in sympathy. 

Maybe because Bill rarely liked people.

“I pity for his soul...” he commented offhandedly while he cut the excessive thread. Bill’s face scrunched in disapproval, eye scrutinizing his brother as he cleaned his surgical tools and returned them to his bag. When he was done, he stood up, Bill’s gaze still not leaving him. Will gave his brother a mocking smile.

“I mean, people who become associated with you either end up being apprehended or worse...” he trailed off, the word ‘dead’ hanging in the air between them. Bill just waved his hand dismissively.

“Not this time around! He just basically saved my life,” he chirped, Will pinching the bridge of his nose in worry. “I have a debt to pay and I know just how to pay it!”

“Please don’t tell me you want to recruit him...”

“I already did!” Will snapped his head to look at his brother incredulously. “He declined. Sooo....”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Will blurted, hands clutching his bag tightly.

“He will be under my protection!” Bill announced as if it was the most mundane thing in the world. Will just groaned at his brother’s antics.

“Bill! Don’t include anyone from the outside! I thought we talked about this?” he asked, exasperated. Bill only rolled his eye. Will needs to know how to calm down sometimes, not overthink anything until things come back to bite their asses. Deal with the problem when it presented itself, as they always say.

“Stop putting any civilian who had no interest in this kind of trade!”

“C’mon, Will. You weren’t interested in this kind of trade, but look at you!” Bill motioned his hands to his brother, smile wide as always.

“I am only YOUR doctor, Bill,” he mumbled, plopping down on the chair he had been occupying earlier. Bill could clearly see how worn down his twin was, because of him, obviously. “And what’s with that riot?” he asked, eyes starting to shut close.

“That riot has been how other riots had been. Now go to your room and sleep,” he ordered while gesturing towards the door. Will shook his head, slowly standing up as a yawn escaped his lips.

“No, thanks. I’ll sleep in my own house...” he mumbled, voice laced with sleep and exhaustion. Bill shook his head, still confused why his brother chose not to live with him anymore. Knowing Will, it was probably because of how much he despised seeing people hurt outside of any surgical situation.

“Suit yourself,” he muttered, waving a hand as Will did. Bill watched his brother leave and when Will had closed the door, he let sleep claim him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finals almost killed me, sorry *sweats*


	5. To Pursue One’s Dreams Are Not As Easy As It Seems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I was drunk when I wrote this chapter (not literally because I'm still a minor haha)  
> But hey, new chapter!

Dipper Pines woke up to the sound of loud knocking.

He groggily lifted his head to give his door an irritated look, confused why his attic room was suddenly painted in a dirty white hue. Had Mabel tried to decorate his room again while he was asleep? He covered his face with a blanket, as if it would make the noise stop, but it only grew louder and louder as the seconds ticked by. Groaning, he rolled off his bed only to fall, the hard oaken floor making contact with his face. He languidly stood up and staggered towards the door.

When he opened it, he was met by Pacifica’s pissed face.

“Paz? Why are you here in the shack? At this hour?” he glanced behind the girl- who was watching him incredulously at him- and saw a long, narrow hallway.

Wait... Since when did the shack have a hallway?

What?

Realization struck him, and he instantly whipped his head back to look at the girl, Pacifica’s face now adorned with amusement. He narrowed his eyes at her before he stepped to the side and let the girl in. He closed the door before wiping his face with both hands.

“Ah, shit,” he mumbled, his words muffled by his hands. He raked a hand through his hair, and let out a sigh. “Sorry... Forgot about all this...”

Pacifica shook her head in disbelief, situating herself on the chair by his desk. “Uhuh... Well, breaking news, we will go to the publishing house today, introduce you to the head publisher, and then go shopping for your extra necessities,” she said, Dipper still disoriented. “So, I suggest you get ready before I drag you to the streets in _that_.” She gestured to his pajamas, eyes disapproving and... Is that disgust in there? Dipper trailed his gaze down hi body to look at his clothes, pouting at the indirect jab on his fashion sense.

“I’m not that hideous...” he defended as he entered the bathroom and got himself ready. He went to the sink and started brushing his teeth, his eyes lazily landing on the bathtub, or the thing inside the bathtub. Why did he dump his bed sheets and bed cover in there? What was he thinking that night? And what’s that red liquid-

OH.

SHIT.

His eyes widened as he recalled the events of the night before: venturing the neighborhood, the scared shop owner, gunshots, a revolver pointed at his head, the impromptu surgery, mafia, Mafia, MAFIA.

Bill Cipher.

Dipper choked on his toothbrush and he immediately removed it from his mouth, hands rubbing his neck in an attempt to stop the coughing and alleviate the soreness. He spat the foam out before it could trickle down his throat, wiping the excessive ones that clung around his mouth. He groaned in frustration while he made his way towards the shower. Damn, he forgot about all that.

He turned the shower on and hastily cleaned himself, thoughts still lingering on the night prior. What was he thinking, getting himself involved? Well, it was against his will to have to do anything with the Mafia, but with the revolver pointing at his head, what choice did he have but to get himself involved?

He only hoped Bill and his lackeys had forgotten he even existed.

After he was done with the rigorous task of bathing and choosing decent clothes he deemed worthy to show to the public, Dipper had decided that he’ll just deal with everything later. After all, it will be his first time seeing the place where he will be working and he cannot, should not, and would not embarrass himself to the head publisher with his tendency to ponder on his thoughts and forget the world that currently surrounded him.

Soon, Dipper found himself inside the sleek car Pacifica owned, sitting beside the girl, thoughts dedicated to how he would act in front of his new coworkers. He had received the same treatment from the blonde’s chauffeur just like the night before, and it didn’t help but fuel his constant worry about meeting the second-in-command of the publishing house, since, technically speaking, Pacifica was his boss.

The posh woman had assured him countless of times that he would be okay and he’ll probably (she said while eyeing his clothes with a shudder) make a good impression. That didn’t reassure Dipper _at all_. He kept fiddling with his tie before they stopped in front of an insanely tall building. His mouth went agape at the establishment before him. He knew Pacifica was rich, they had a freaking mansion. But at the sight of the place, it made him question the amount of money the Northwests really held.

Dipper almost, _almost_ , stumbled out of the car, but he caught himself before he showed the world how awkward and klutzy he really is. Yet it did not go unnoticed by Pacifica. The blonde snorted at him, but helped him nonetheless. Dipper figured Pacifica was used to his clumsiness, but he was thankful the girl doesn’t mind too much.

Due to his nervousness, everything they had passed by was a blur.

And then he was suddenly inside a large office, face-to-face with a huge, bald man in front of him. He donned a dirty white shirt, his red suspenders on the verge of giving up as it tried to support his russet slacks. His mustache had reminded him of Chaplin’s, whose shows Mabel loved to watch. His face was round and plump, lines already showing on some areas. He looked intimidating, and if it was the aura he wanted to give off, Dipper could guarantee him he was being successful at it.

Dipper gulped noticeably as the man leveled his gaze on him, eyes yellowing and challenging, and Dipper didn’t need the challenge right now because he was nervous as fuck.

“This, Mr. Whittaker, is the writer I was talking to you about,” Pacifica introduced, nudging Dipper to step closer towards the desk. Dipper did so, but not before tripping on the carpet and falling in all fours on the floor. The blonde tried to help him up, Dipper mumbling a small ‘thanks’, and hands dusting the nonexistent soot that clung on his coat. He stepped closer, more successful this time, before holding his hand out to the man.

“M-My na-name’s Dipper Pines, sir. Pleased to meet you, sir,” he stuttered, hands visibly shaking at the man’s gaze. Dipper’s heart almost sank down to his stomach when Whittaker didn’t move to shake his hand. He only glanced at it and quirked an eyebrow at the boy.

Dipper was sure he was going to faint then and there if the man hadn’t suddenly bellowed in laughter, hands slapping the desk in front of him. Dipper laughed awkwardly along with the huge man, eyes watching him as he stood up from his chair and walked towards Dipper, hands now clutching his potbelly.

“Don’t be so nervous, lad!” he exclaimed while he patted Dipper’s back, knocking the air out of his lungs. He draped a beefy arm on Dipper’s shoulders, his other hand grasping Dipper’s- that was still outstretched- in a firm handshake. “Full name’s Lloyd Whittaker! You can call me Lloyd, Whittaker or the man who laughs like a dying whale!” he laughed even louder, making Dipper’s tense nerves slightly relax.

“Uhmm... Pleased to meet you, Mr. Whittaker,” he uttered, choosing to imitate how Pacifica had addressed the man. Whittaker turned both of them around to face the blonde.

“No, not like that, lad,” he said quietly, Dipper feeling his nervousness creep up again, then chuckled loudly as Whittaker shook his head in amusement. “It should be ‘Pleased to work with you, Mr. Whittaker.,” he corrected. Dipper’s eyes widened in disbelief. Did the man just hire him? Well, Pacifica had hired him so he was assured he’d get the job. But hearing it from the man who makes the work _work_ still was a great relief for him.

“Great!” Pacifica exclaimed, hands clasping in what Dipper could see was also relief. Whittaker removed his arm from the boy’s shoulder, but not after giving him an assuring pat on the back, and went back to sit on his chair. Pacifica stood beside Dipper before smiling warmly at Whittaker. “But I do hope you’ll mind that he’ll start his job tomorrow. The boy is still new here and had a lot of necessities to buy.”

Whittaker waved his hand dismissively. “Ah, that’s no big deal, really,” he reassured, smiling warmly at the both of them. “Just come here at 8 in the morning, since I’ll be briefing you about how we get things done. You’ll be assigned in the newspaper-”

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Dipper interrupted, hands waving frantically in front of him. Whittaker looked at him with questioning eyes, and Dipper found himself gulping. “So you mean to say... Is that I’m going to be writing news articles?” he asked, heart starting to constrict with worry. _And why the fuck does this publishing house even have a newspaper department?!_ , he thought incredulously. Sure Pacifica’s company had their own resident writers to whip something up for them, but a newspaper department? Really?

“Why, even better! You’re assigned to the Editorial Section, lad! The guy, nice guy, by the way, that owned the job suddenly disappeared one night with no trace, and he’d been neglecting his responsibilities in the department. The staff are panicking and his job are turned over to the Editorial Cartoonists. They’re not bad, really, but they should just stick to drawing,” he chuckled. “That’s why I need to take actions and had to look for a replacement,” he added as if it was something that wasn’t, even the slightest, disturbing. Dipper and Pacifica glanced at each other, worry glinting in both their eyes. “And here you are, my boy!”

Thankfully, Pacifica voiced his concerns for both the job assigned to him and his life. “Mr. Whittaker, Dipper here isn’t really the newspaper kind of guy. He writes books, both fictional and not. And he can’t-”

“Ah, I’m sorry, Madame, but that’s the only position we have as far. We have more than enough writers to be able to survive, excel even, this year, but we also need to balance every department,” he sighed sadly before looking at both of them. “I am so sorry. This is the only position I could offer.”

Pacifica turned to look at Dipper, eyes sad and sorry. Dipper, sensing the sympathy the woman was giving him, turned to her and smiled reassuringly. But what should he do now? He can’t go back to Gravity Falls when he still had nothing to prove. What would the people say? Gravity Falls’ citizens are nice people, but he doesn’t want to become the talk of town, doesn’t want to become the next Toby Determined.

But at what cost? His life? Dipper’s scowl deepened even more, deciding whether or not he should accept the job. Go back to Gravity Falls and become a loser? Or go back to Gravity Falls and become a cold body inside a box who’s also a loser? Dipper bit the inside of his cheek as he thought of his choice. Damn, Mabel would kill him for this. It was clear to him how much she wanted him away from trouble.

But he’s already in one. Might as well just accept his fate.

“Well, if you don’t want it, I could give it to someone el-”

“Wait!” he exclaimed, hands outstretched to catch Whittaker’s attention. He gave one last glance at Pacifica, the woman’s eyes widening at his decision but saying nothing, before he continued, “I accept it. I-I want to be part of the newspaper department. I-It would be an honor,” he said, voice resolved.

Whittaker beamed at the brunet. He clasped his huge hands and nodded. “Good decision, my boy. Well, as I’ve said earlie-” He was interrupted when the telephone on his desk rang loudly, the three inhabitants of the room jerking in surprise. Whittaker picked the receiver, face immediately turning into displeasure. “I swear if this is...” he mumbled under his breath before pressing the phone against his ear. “Good day, this is the NW Publishing! How may I help-” He went quiet as the voice from the other line started talking. He nodded grimly, muttering ‘Yes’ and ‘I understand’ while he’s at it, occasionally sparing Dipper glances, which made the brunet’s earlier trepidation return.

“Whittaker seems to keep looking at you...” Pacifica whispered, eyes not leaving the potbellied man. Dipper nodded slowly, noticing beads of sweat forming on Whittaker’s forehead. The man might be trying his best to hide how nervous he was, but it was glaringly obvious.

“Yes, sir. I understand. T-Thank you,” he finished, putting the receiver down with a relieved sigh. He glanced back to the pair still standing in front of him, giving them the best reassuring smile he could muster. “Well... Sorry about that. Just... A rather important business,” he chuckled nervously before clearing his throat. “Glad to have you here, Mr. Pines. I’ll be expecting you tomorrow then.”

Dipper gave him a small nod as Pacifica intertwined her arm with his. “Thank you, Mr. Whittaker. He’ll be here on time.” She gave the man a small wave, dragging Dipper out of the office. Her pace quickened, eyes kept on stealing glances at Whittaker’s office.

Dipper heard her mumble ‘Weird’ under her breath.

+++

The trip toward the car was quiet, the frown on Pacifica’s face never leaving her usually flawless features. Dipper wondered what got the girl in such brooding mood. Was it because of Whittaker’s strange actions? Dipper did find the potbellied man’s behaviour quite out of character even if he only met the man for a few minutes. But what does it have to do with him? Whittaker sure seemed to keep glancing at him while he’s on the phone.

The girl’s frown ceased and smoothed to concern. “Dipper...” Pacifica started, eyes fixed on the scenery they passed by. She pursed her lips, tearing her gaze from the city’s views and turning to Dipper. “Sorry about all this. I didn’t expect- You shouldn’t-”

“It’s okay, Paz,” Dipper interrupted, grateful for the girl’s concern. Pacifica, despite how she usually was, is kind and sincere. “What’s important is that I have a job here, thanks to you.” He grasped her hand and squeezed it, sending waves of reassurance to the girl. “So you shouldn’t be worried. I will be fine.”

Pacifica gave him a forced smile, worry still clear on her features. The brunet squeezed her hand again, the car slowly skidding to a stop in front of a mall. The blonde hopped out of the car, Dipper scampering to follow her. He doesn’t want to experience the treatment her chauffeur seemed keep on giving him once more. As he stood beside Pacifica, said woman leaned and poked her head through the window, instructing her servant a few things before he sped away, his eyes narrowed and directed solely at Dipper.

“I have a feeling your chauffeur hates me,” Dipper said, earning a light chuckle from the blonde. She hooked her arm on his, and started dragging him towards a very fancy-looking mall. Dipper’s mouth went agape as they entered, noticing the huge, golden chandelier hanging on the center of the establishment.

“You don’t even know, Dipper,” she muttered, pulling the brunet into a clothing store filled with all kinds of suits and ties, one that Dipper mused he wouldn’t be able to buy even if he used his salary for the entire year. Dipper abruptly stopped on his tracks, jerking the blonde backwards. “Hey!” she protested, whipping her head to scowl at him.

The brunet’s eyes never left the store, Pacifica still doing her best to drag him inside. “Paz, I wouldn’t be able to afford anything in there,” he confessed, trying to wrench his hand free from the blonde’s iron grip. How the fuck is Pacifica stronger than him?

Pacifica rolled her eyes in irritation. “I’ll be the one paying, dork!” she cried, her strength winning against Dipper’s resistance. The boy’s eyes widened even more, a flush appearing on his face. “And we probably look stupid right now, so stop resisting!”

“You can’t, Paz-”

“Shush!” she warned, finally able to drag the brunet inside the store. Dipper shoved both his hands in his coat pockets, making himself small to not stand out. Well, looking at his shabby clothing, he probably already did. The woman scanned the racks, one hand holding items she deemed would look good on Dipper. Noting that the brunet wasn’t following her, she turned to him, eyes questioning. “Are you just going to stand there or be a gentleman and help me here?” 

Dipper immediately went to the girl’s side, holding out his hands to take the apparels from her. He felt guilty, again, for having Pacifica buy things for him. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate the attention the blonde was giving him, he’s just embarrassed since he wasn’t used to things like this. He’ll probably just need to get used to it because no one can say no to Pacifica Northwest _. What Pacifica wants, Pacifica gets_ , Dipper said to himself.

As they hopped from store to store buying clothes and other necessities, Dipper noticed a few finely dressed men following them wherever they go.

+++

At the end of the day, Dipper had a handful of bags from every store imaginable, plus his monthly food supply and hygiene kit (since Pacifica persisted that he needed to take a bath daily, if possible). He had told her that he didn’t need everything they had bought, but the woman just shrugged him off saying, ‘I won’t have an employee of mine looking like a vagrant.’ Dipper was not sure if it was an insult or not.

Knowing Pacifica, it was probably a _playful_ insult.

He hoped.

After putting away everything they- er- Pacifica had bought for him, he went and flopped himself on the bed, not even bothering to take his shoes off. His mind wandered to the men that had been following them all day, wondering who they could be. He closed his eyes as his thoughts started coming up reasons of why they had been followed.

What if that Mafioso died and they placed the blame on him?

Dipper’s eyes snapped open as horror filled him. He scampered to sit himself straight, feeling dread settle on the pit of his stomach. What the fuck? Why would they think that? It’s not like he left that Mafioso bleed to his death. He had somehow assisted the man, stitched his wounds even. That wound wasn’t even severe, why would he die?

He climbed out of his bed and peeked through his window’s binds just to see if the men were still there. As he scanned the vicinity around him, he sighed in relief at seeing no sign of life wandering on the streets. He probably was overthinking things. There’s no one after his head. He’s just being paranoid. Dipper was sure he’s safe.

That’s what he thought until he caught a glimpse of a lone figure standing outside, his build obscured by the canopy of the trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for a lot of inaccurate stuff but I'm not sorry for my OCs haha  
> Expect more to come  
> And if you know something that you guys wish to share (regarding this AU), don't be afraid to write it in the comments below!  
> I'll appreciate it a lot!


	6. A Not-So-Pleasant Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSST! Guess who's not a minor anymore~ *points to self*  
> Anyways, I had my friend do a translation for me and she wanted to tell you guys that she isn't confident about it so please don't judge her and to those who are also reading my other fic (Yes, that one), I'm still currently figuring out how to write smut so update might take longer. Sorry...

A month had passed since Dipper’s arrival in Manhattan. It was tough at first; adjusting on living alone, adapting to his new environment, getting along with his fellow coworkers, and getting used to his job in the editorial column of the news department. He might not have any idea on how to do things beyond his area of expertise, but thankfully, some of his colleagues were willing to guide him into doing his work properly.

One was Martha Shaw whom Dipper looked up to a lot. Assigned to writing news articles, the petite woman with dirty blonde hair, vivid blue eyes and ghostly complexion had given him helpful guidelines on how to write a proper editorial article. _Unlike news writing, editorials often have the columnists’ viewpoint and opinions weaved alongside facts. You just have to learn when and where to insert what. Being biased would actually help you, though be careful. Your words could call unwanted attention,_ she had told him. Dipper had embedded the woman’s words in his heart 

Then there was Santiago Alvarado or Santi (as he preferred to be called), their editorial cartoonist and the guy who usually gives life to his articles. The Spanish man, with his wry humor and creative style, would often get into trouble for abusing their department’s pantry by stealing a cookie or two from the jar. And if possible, the entire jar. Martha, the only one he fears, was usually the one who drags him out of the pantry by the ear.

The two most respected graphic artists, Anastasia Fox and Carl Summers, both have shenanigans of their own. Anastasia would often include sexual innuendos on her comics that only few could understand, while Carl would hide various crossword puzzle answers in his illustrations. If ever the reader possess a sharp eye, they’ll be able answer at least four words on that day’s given puzzle. The two would usually help Dipper by answering the questions he’s too shy to ask, somehow mysteriously knowing when he doesn’t know something.

Then last but not the least, their head editor, Louise Innsbruck, who sees everything that comes in and out of the department. She makes sure that no data was flawed and no news was con. The slender woman, despite being strict when it comes to getting the job done, was more than willing in helping and making Dipper’s life in the publishing house easier. _A force to be reckoned with but a mother if needed_ , most of the staff would say.

And Dipper considered himself lucky. He’s living the city life he had always wanted, and it would have been perfect if it weren’t for _one thing_.

Everywhere he went, to work or to the supermarket or wherever he needed to be, there will always be a few finely dressed men that would follow him around, often hiding themselves from the brunet’s sight. Dipper had first mused that they wanted him dead, have his head on a silver platter or whatever. But after a few days of being followed around, he was sure those men mean no harm to him... For now, at least.

But still, Dipper didn’t let those thoughts reassure him too much. Every morning, after eating what he considered breakfast, Dipper would go straight to work, his feet scuttling on the cemented sidewalk in an effort to lose his pursuers or telling the taxicab’s driver to go faster than usual. His efforts were unmistakably futile. So, he just tried to ignore said men, and pretended that everything’s fine and normal even though that it surely wasn’t.

He wasn’t even sure why they’re following him.

Dipper wanted to tell someone, anyone, but he feared that they might shrug him off in fear of the Mafia. He could go talk to that shop owner, but his timing were always off. Every time he passed by the shop, it’s always close and the shop owner nowhere to be seen. Dipper hoped he was okay. The house was even locked up. Not that he’s stalking or anything, he just wanted to properly say thank you to the man that had just saved his life.

And probably have someone to talk to about his problems, because if Pacifica found out about his involvement with the Mafia, the girl will probably go nuts.

So, like every other mornings, Dipper downed his now lukewarm coffee in one go. He placed the dishes on his sink, to be washed when he returned home, letting it sit in for the whole day. Glancing at the clock, he still has 40 minutes before he’ll be considered late. Dipper found himself lucky that he was assigned in the editorial column. He only gets to write about the hottest topic during said week, and can write all about it the day before the newspaper will be printed. The reporters, page designers, and the guys handling the printing, however, were not so lucky. They either had to go to work early that morning or stay up all night writing articles or layouting or printing news ranging from petty crimes to the nation’s boost or setback in economic growth.

On his way out of the building, he greeted the new guard situated beside the main entrance. He looked young and fresh, an advantage for businesses that needed loyalty and dedication since managements can easily scare greens into doing their job properly. The guard greeted back, nodding as Dipper passed by. He wondered what happened to the old one. Not dead, he could only hope.

Dipper flagged a taxicab, and after 30 minutes of travel, had finally reached the publishing house he had been happily working for. As he climbed out of the vehicle, he noticed a few black 1953 Studebakers parked in front of the establishment. He wondered who could possibly own said cars as people avoided them like it was something that would cost their life if ever they went near it by 3 meters. Well, looking at the car itself, a scratch would probably cost Dipper his life.

Circumventing around the vehicle like how other passers-by did, Dipper entered the building, only to be greeted by a nervous security guard and an alarmed counter clerk, Jemma Oswald, who was frantically writing on her paper while beads of sweat formed on her forehead. Dipper eyed her oddly before walking towards the elevator. He pressed the floor where the news department was stationed, and found it weird as to why the guard and Jemma were acting strange.

With a ding, the elevator stopped on his floor, the door opening slowly. Dipper almost jumped when a bunch of people from their department (who he only knew by face) flooded the elevator. He squeezed his way out, noticing that they, too, were acting anxious. He raised an eyebrow at the crowded lift before turning left and almost bumping into the usually cheerful Santiago looking not-so-cheerful at the time being.

“Whoa, Santi!” he exclaimed, the Spanish man whipping his head to look at him. His eyes were fearful and his hair disheveled, and Dipper wondered why everyone were acting like they were so scared. “Are you okay? Where are you going?” Santiago shook his head vehemently, lips pursed in a thin line.

“Dipper, don’t go there! I swear, don’t go to the department!” he cried, both hands on Dippers arm and shaking him in alarm. “It’s dangerous! You’re better off back to your apartment! Everyone’s trying to flee subtly, you should too!” He whipped his head to look around before sidestepping to ride the elevator. Much to his despair, it already descended. “No!”

“Santi, what’s wro-?”

“Santiago Marquez Alvarado, where do you think you’re going?!” Martha half-screamed, half-whispered as she marched towards them, her chin up and hands balled into fists. Dipper would have been relieved to see someone who was calm, until he saw past the facade the blonde woman was obviously trying to maintain.

Martha was terrified.

“ _Dios mio_ , Martha!” Santi almost screamed, a hand clutching his chest while simultaneously jerking in surprise before hiding behind Dipper and using him as a shield against the woman. “ _Casi me dio un ataque al corazon!_ You almost gave me a heart attack!” He moved to Dipper’s left as the woman tried to approach him from the right, eyes narrowing in caution and lips curving down exaggeratedly.

“Santi, you’re 30 and we’ve got work to do! You can’t just leave!” she reprimanded, trying to approach him again from the left, only for the man to go right. “I swear, Santi, enough of the games!”

“This is not a game, Martha! Our lives are on the line!”

Dipper’s eyes widened in alarm, removing Santiago’s hand from his shoulders and turning around to face the man. “What do you mean?” he asked, his colleagues’ worry starting to infect him too. If both Santiago and Martha are scared, then he had enough reason to be scared too. After all, Santiago and Martha, especially Martha, seldom had something that could sway them given their line of work.

“I-Ignore Santi, Dipper. He’s just being stupid,” Martha tried to reassure, but it did nothing to help Dipper.

“Excuse me, I am not! I have enough reason to be scared of the Maf-” Whatever Santiago was about to say, Martha had caught him by the arm and covered a hand on his mouth, muffling his next words. Martha smiled at Dipper after she shot the Spanish man a dirty glare.

“Martha?”

“It’s okay Dipper, I can handle Santi. I think Editor Innsbruck wanted to see you,” she said through gritted teeth. Dipper could see the guilt that dwelled on her eyes. “About a letter from a reader, I think?”

Dipper studied her for a few seconds before hesitantly nodding and leaving his two disputing coworkers, currently facing each other in a mental battle that either of them didn’t want to lose. The brunet tried to ignore the dread that started to dwell on his stomach, but it grew stronger and stronger every step he took towards their department’s office door.

Dipper Pines could feel something bad was going to happen soon.

A shaky hand reached for the bronze door knob, Dipper cautiously opening it and poking his head inside. The few staff that remained whipped their heads at the newcomer, eyes widening in both shock and warning. His eyes met a reporter’s frightened ones, the man’s head subtly shaking to silently tell Dipper not to continue. Dipper pursed his lips before widely opening the door and stepping inside.

He passed by Anastasia’s desk, her whole body hunched in an attempt to hide herself. Dipper looked at her slightly shaking form, wanting to ask her if she was okay. But the look Carl gave him, whose desk was situated next to the woman’s, made him not to. Carl motioned with his head for Dipper to look at his own desk.

Dipper tore his eyes away from the man, his vision landing on his slightly messy desk. The sight would have been something mundane, until Dipper saw what the problem was.

One, his swivel chair was faced backwards, which was something he never does when leaving work. Two, someone was already sitting on it. And three, even if he can’t fully see the person, Dipper knew who exactly that person was.

His heart dropped to his stomach as the swivel chair slowly turned to face him. He could see Editor Innsbruck from the corner of his eye, but his attention was much more focused on the devilish smirk the man was giving him. Dipper could almost see his life flash before his eyes as the man opened his mouth to speak.

“Heya, Pine Tree! Didja’ miss me?”

+++

Dipper bolted for the door the moment the man, Bill Cipher, rose to his feet. He could feel his heart beating wildly inside his chest, all thought leaving him except for the will to live. Hope made its way to his heart as he neared the door, only for it to be squashed into a pulp when he collided with two bulk bodies that appeared out of nowhere. He fell flat on his rear, a hand immediately clutching the area in an attempt to soothe the pain down.

Before he could hoist himself up, a pair of gloved, slender hands hooked under his armpits, lifting him up in one swift motion. Dipper frantically swatted the hands away when he found his footing. He turned around to face the slightly surprised Mafioso, the blond’s eye wide and mouth slightly agape.

“Y-You!” Dipper stammered, an index finger extended to point at the now smirking man. He backed a few steps away in an attempt to create distance from him and Bill, bumping to the two men blocking the door as a result. Dipper jumped in surprise, running blindly towards the blond Mafioso, only to push him away when he realized that he did exactly the opposite of what he should be doing.

Bill Cipher just laughed at his dilemma. The nerve of that _asshole!_

“Jeez! Relax, kid!” Bill chuckled, causing the other people in the room to wince in fear. “I’m not packed!” he flopped the lower part of his suit to show his belt, an empty holster the only thing attached to it. As if to prove more his point, he raised both his hands in the air. “See?” Dipper eyed his hands, his tenseness momentarily leaving him, until he realized that the men behind him might be the ones who have firearms with them. “Yeesh! Aren’t you sharp?” Bill exclaimed, making a grand gesture of slinging his arm on the brunet’s shoulder. Dipper felt everyone’s eyes on him and the capo. Fuck, they probably blamed him for the Mafia’s presence in this establishment right now.

What if Whittaker found out about this and have him fired?

And speak of the devil.

Whittaker busted the door open, the two members of Bill’s crew jumping out of the way as the potbellied man angrily marched inside. “What in the name of-” His words were cut short when he noticed the blond Mafioso in the middle of the room with the scared Dipper being wrapped with an arm. The man’s once intimidating demeanor instantly shrank, only to be replaced by fear. “S-Sir!” Whittaker muttered, head hung to avoid eye contact with Bill. Dipper was surprised at the scene before him, Whittaker terrified with someone smaller and probably weaker than him. But what really surprised Dipper was how he addressed the hoodlum.

_Sir._

Bill waved a hand to acknowledge the man. “Ah! Baldy! What a pleasant surprise!” He chirped, dragging Dipper with him as he approached Whittaker. The younger man, despite trying to process what was going on, struggled with the hold the Mafioso got on him. Bill only chortled at his futile efforts. He held out a hand to Whittaker, grin still wide yet incomprehensible. “Thank you for taking care of Pine Tree here!” It was clear that Whittaker was unsure if he should take the hand that was offered, but when Bill gave him a dangerous yet subtle sneer, the potbellied man took it without a second thought.

Dipper wondered what the Mafioso meant by that.

“Wh-What?” he stuttered, eyes now focused on Bill’s covered eye. Bill turned to look at him, smile not leaving his features. He visibly gulped before asking again, “What do you mean by that?” Dipper felt uncomfortable when the capo only stared at him, his single visible eye scrutinizing him as if a specimen to a scientist. But then, Bill’s usual self immediately returned.

“Why, little Pine Tree...” he cooed, pinching Dipper’s cheeks to either mock or still mock him. “I have Baldy here make sure that no trouble comes your way while you’re working in this... _whateverthisis_.” Bill placed an index finger against the brunet’s lips before Dipper could open them again. “It means that no one here can mock, insult, bully, hurt or kill you, else everything these people had been working for and are planning on working on will go-” Bill mouthed him the word ‘boom’, his hand trying to imitate an explosion. Dipper paled at Bill’s threat.

All of his coworkers’ lives and the company’s existence depended on him.

Dipper never felt more pressure in his entire lifetime.

“You what-?!” he cried, removing the now offending arm off his shoulder. Bill let him, his smile never wavering. “You can’t do that! That’s insane!”

“You just described everything I am, kid!” he snickered before ruffling the younger man’s brown locks. Dipper could feel that Bill had caught sight of his birthmark. His heart palpitated at the fear of the capo making fun of him and his weird mark, but instead, the blond man just removed his hand from his head. “And actually, I can do what I want.”

Dipper shook his head, both hands covering his face. “Holy shit, no... No... This can’t be true!” he mumbled in horror. He peeked at Whittaker through his fingers, hoping that his eyes were enough to send silent apologies to the man. He didn’t mind that Whittaker had kept his connections with Bill from him. The man had enough reason to. Crossing the Mafia was something even Dipper didn’t want.

But damn, he _fucking_ want to kick Bill in the shin. No matter what cost.

“Oh, better believe it kid! I seldom make jokes...” he trailed off, his usual demeanor shifting to something dangerous. “...And the jokes I make are far more alarming than funny.” Bill flashed Dipper a wicked grin, one that promised nothing but death and chaos. But then, like always, it was easily gone as it came. “So, you better accept your fate and whatever bullshit other people say about stuff like that.”

Dipper looked at Bill incredulously, hands still on his cheeks and were now slightly stretching his face. “Can I have a say about this?” he asked, voice close to pleading. Bill giddily shook his head, making Dipper groan loudly. If there’s only a way just to make the Mafioso leave him alone, he’ll definitely do it. He was desperate. Well, not that desperate, if he thought about it. “Please, I’ll do anything. Just- Just leave me alone!”

The blond perked up at the offer, eyes gleaming with nothing but mischief. “Anything?” Dipper, realizing his mistake, waved his hand frantically in front Bill’s face.

“W-Wait, I-I don’t mean it like tha-”

“Nope!” Bill exclaimed, an arm hooking with Dipper’s. “Too late! You can’t take it back now!” The blond started dragging Dipper towards the door, the younger man sputtering help from his fellow coworkers and at Whittaker, only to be met by pitiful stares and silent apologies. Anastasia had finally looked up from her position, eyes worried for the brunet’s misfortune. Editor Innsbruck could only look away and looked like she was seething on her spot.

And so, Dipper was a screaming mess as he was dragged out of the building. He didn’t want this. He didn’t sign up for this. Is wanting a simple city life too much to ask? What did he do to deserve this kind of doom? As far as he knew, Dipper hadn’t killed a single human.

He was then unceremoniously shoved inside the passenger seat of one of the Studebakers he had passed by earlier. He clambered on the car’s door, fumbling blindly for the car door’s handle. Bill followed him inside and casually sat beside him. When he noticed the brunet’s amusing position, he can’t help but let out a snort.

“What are you doing?” he asked, a hand reaching for the younger man’s right one, the one that had been gripping the door handle. He jerked the man towards him, the brunet yelping loudly at the sudden motion.

“Wh-Where are you taking me?!” he almost screamed, prying the Mafioso’s hand from his wrist. “Aren’t you injured?! You’re moving too much! Letmegowhatthefuckwhatdoyouwantwithme?!”

Bill laughed loudly, pulling the boy closer to him. “Kid, you’re a riot!” he guffawed before shaking his head in amusement, his laughter slowly receding. Dipper stopped his ministrations with the iron grip in his wrist. “But didn’t you say it so yourself? You’ll do anything just to make me leave you alone.” He pinched Dipper’s nose in a patronizing manner.

“Are you even going to leave me alone after I do what you want me to?” Dipper asked, defeated. He slumped on his seat, both giving up the idea of escaping and wrenching his wrist free from the Mafioso’s grip.

“That depends on the outcome of today’s event!” the blond chirped, his hold on Dipper’s hand loosening. Dipper didn’t even seize the chance, and opted instead to just let the man do what he wanted.

Except for killing anyone, of course. And by anyone, that included him.

“Fine! You win! What do you want?!” Dipper demanded, eyes trailing the new figure that entered the driver’s side of the car. The newcomer glared dangerously at him before gunning the engine to life. Dipper recognized him as Valentino.

“Oh, nothing extravagant...” Bill mused. Dipper was about to roll his eyes at the man if only he wasn’t interrupted by the Mafioso’s lack of understanding about personal space. He grinned widely at him, like how an unruly child does before drops his latest mischief.

“Let’s just say I needed a companion for today’s lunch,” Bill said casually as if it was the most mundane thing to say in the world.

Or at least, in Dipper’s world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bill, it should be 'date' not 'companion'  
> I have been part of our campus journalism in high school and newspaper making has a special place in my heart. Though, I'm aware of my inaccuracies and I'm sorry for it.  
> I hope my OCs didn't bother you, lovely people!


	7. What a Day Spent with the Demon Feels Like Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! Sorry for another long ass update! Anyways, I wanna thank all of you, lovely people, for the read/kudo/comment/bookmark! You are all the reason why I still haven’t succumbed to my insecurities and stopped writing this fic… You make my heart swell with happiness!
> 
> I also want to apologize if I can’t reply to all of you guys’ comments. They’re just so wonderful that sometimes I don’t know what to say. But please do know that I appreciate ALL of your comments. In fact, I screenshot every comment and save them in a folder labelled ‘MOTIVATION!!!’ That’s how much your words mean to me *^_^*
> 
> Like always, sorry for the inaccuracies and I hope all of you would enjoy this chapter!

Dipper Pines had always loved adventures. When he was younger, he and Mabel would always go to the forest and explore the supernatural life that they think existed under the protection of the trees. Though they never saw anything other than the simple woodland creatures that roam the forest, it did not stop the duo from going there just to simply hang out.

Dipper knew that being an adventurer had always been in his blood 

But shit, he did not want this kind of adventure.

“Companion? Lunch?!” he almost cried, eyes wide with disbelief. The fuck? If this man wanted to have a friendly conversation over meal, then why Dipper? Why _him_ of all people? Plus, it’s like past 8 in the morning! Lunch doesn’t come round ‘til noon! “You’ve got an entire crew to pick for that! Why would you go out your way just to treat me to lunch?! I can provide for my lunch just _fine_!” Dipper tread a hand through his hair, the one the Mafioso wasn’t gripping, and grumbled when his fingers tangled on them instead. Bill chuckled at him loudly, Dipper glaring (while still trying to remove his tangled fingers from his hair) in return.

“You’re entertaining! In this day and age, only few have that trait in them!” he exclaimed, removing his grip from Dipper’s wrist and slinging his arm on Dipper’s shoulders. Dipper eyed the arm around him, wanting it as far away from his neck as possible. “Besides, my crew had lives of their own. I can’t interfere with it outside work.”

“And you can interfere with mine?” he asked in disbelief.

“Yup!” Bill replied cheerfully. Dipper rolled his eyes, frustrated that he had attracted the wrong kind of attention from this bustling city life. Dipper knew that he was one of the most uninteresting people to grace the earth, which made him wonder why he had caught this hallucinating lunatic’s attention. He did try his best to blend with the crowd as much as possible, but lo and behold! He was in a spotlight that he didn’t want to be shone upon.

“You’ve been gone for a month. You should have been more generous and disappeared for the rest of my life,” he spat out, making sure that it was obvious how much he wanted Bill out of his life. Sure, it might end up with him having a bullet through his head, but it’s worth the try just for the sake of living a peaceful life. His statement seemed to not irk Bill, Dipper inwardly letting out a sigh of relief.

“Awww, Pine Tree! You did miss me!” he cooed, pinching Dipper’s cheek a little too roughly. Dipper cried at the pain it caused, immediately shoving the blond away from him. He brought a hand to cup his cheek, rubbing it gently to alleviate the sting. Bill adjusted his clothes and smirked before he pulled Dipper by the collar, face mere inches away from the young man.

“Kid, I like that little spark in you. Believe me, I do,” he snarled, his golden eye glinting dangerously at Dipper. The brunet gulped loudly, beads of sweat forming on his forehead while a million thoughts ran in his head. Shit, he really did it. He’s really going to die. Valentino glanced at them, seemingly unperturbed by the scene happening behind him. “But I usually extinguish measly flames before it turns into an inferno. So I suggest you to not fan that spark...” Bill brought his lips near Dipper’s his ear, voice promising him nothing but death. “...else I will be the one to douse it with your own blood.” When he pulled away, Dipper was as white as sheet, lips slightly trembling at the threat the Mafioso just gave him.

And then, Bill was smiling again. “Aaaaand silly, Pine Tree!” he exclaimed as if he hadn’t dropped that death threat just a while ago. “Did you really expect me to go waltzing around with that injury still not healing? Believe me, I want to thank you for your _kindness_ and _compassion_ the next day, but my doctor would kill me if I do that! He’s really strict, you know?” he chirped, Dipper reluctantly nodding as the threat still bothered him to the core. His vision stayed on his balled hands, not trusting himself to look at the Mafioso.

“So I sent my crew to look after you! Protect you!” he said, shocking Dipper with the news. Wait, they were sent to look out for him? Not to… He hesitantly turned his gaze to Bill, eyes still not meeting the golden orb the blond possess. He opened his mouth to speak, but immediately shut them again. Bill noticed his discomfort and gave him a light pat on the back. “Loosen up a little, kid! I’ve got no intention to bump you off!”

 _You expect me to relax after that threat?!_ , Dipper thought incredulously. He was right, this man was insane and in dire need of medical attention from a psychiatric hospital. The brunet pursed his lips one more time, cautiously eyeing the Mafioso beside him, then opened his mouth to speak.

“You mean, they’re not sent to kill me and have my head presented to you?” he asked, Bill snickering at him. Dipper’s eyebrows met in a light scowl, annoyed at how the blond treats him like he was some kind of joke.

“Of course not, Sapling!” Dipper’s face immediately contorted in disgust at the new nickname. Bill noticed it and raised an eyebrow, smile akin to amusement. “What, you want me to call you ‘Mason’?” he retorted, Dipper flushing red at hearing his real name. No one calls him by his real name anymore. Heck, he even personally asked his coworkers to just call him ‘Dipper’. How did this Mafioso know about that? Unless he had him-

“Holy shit, you had me investigated?!” he exclaimed, eyes wide with shock and mouth slightly agape. Shit. He was in real deep _shit_. Why did he even expect that his life in this city would be normal after helping that damned man during that fateful night? Of course not! Dipper Pines was destined for a life of chaos and madness, madness caused by this crazed capo beside him.

“I told you I’ll always be watching! Plus, I needed personal information from the people I grant my protection with! I mean, how would my _borgata_ protect you if we know nothing about you?” he said casually, Dipper’s eyebrows slowly meeting at every word that comes out of Bill’s mouth.

“And why would you _protect_ me?” Dipper asked, confused. He knew that the city was a dangerous place. But he also knew that it was the Mafia he should be protected from. “I don’t need protection!”

“Trust me kid, you’d need that in this city.” Bill said with a wink, or at least Dipper thought it was a wink. He blushed at the statement that obviously had more meanings than one. “Besides, consider this as a form of payment for saving my life.”

“I don’t want it,” Dipper said, finding the courage to look the Mafioso in the eye. Bill just snorted at him, rolling his single visible eye, only for it to land on a figure occupying one of the tables outside a coffee shop, his back to the road, and engrossed with the daily paper. His smile widened and he hastily tapped Valentino’s shoulder.

“Stop the car!” he ordered with a lilt in his voice. The underboss immediately stepped on the brakes, Dipper diving into the driver’s seat in front of him.

“What the-?” Dipper muttered, a hand clutching his forehead. He could already feel a bump starting to form just beside his birthmark. He turned his head to look at the capo, who was briskly getting out of the vehicle, and almost jumped off the car to follow the man currently walking across the road without any regards for his life or the other vehicles driving along the street.

Dipper grabbed Bill’s arm and jerked the man backwards before a speeding car could hit him. Despite not liking the man’s guts, it is still against Dipper’s moral codes to let a man die in front of him. He would feel guilty if he did nothing. Still, Bill continued to stride forward, Dipper holding up his hands to the other vehicles as they passed by.

When they reached the sidewalk, Bill, without hesitation, side kicked the man in a tweed coat who was about to sip his morning coffee. Dipper cringed as the man’s head thumped loudly against the hard pavement, the other patrons of the shop, and even the passers-by, startled by the commotion Bill had caused.

“Bill-”

“Well, well, well. What a coincidence!” Bill sing-sang while he sauntered towards the man, lifting a foot to step on the man’s face, his cheek being squished against the sidewalk. Dipper wanted to intervene, knowing full well that Bill was unarmed. He took a step forward, Bill whipping his head to glare dangerously at him. Dipper froze in his place while the Mafioso turned his attention back to the man under his foot. “Garret Andrews! Just the man I was hoping to see! How’re you?” he applied more pressure on his foot, the man, Andrews, wincing in pain.

“S-Sir!” the man cried, both in plea and terrified shock. Bill tutted at him, head shaking in pity. “P-Please sir. I’m sorr-” He was cut off when Bill shoved the heel of his oxfords inside the man’s open mouth.

“Shush, I didn’t allow you to talk,” he warned, Valentino scampering to his side. Dipper watched the scene before him, feeling completely helpless. He wanted to help the man, he really does. But with Bill looking like a crazed maniac on the verge of amok, he was paralyzed. “I was looking everywhere for you! I didn’t know you still had the _audacity_ to drink coffee in _my_ city after what _you_ did!” he spat out. Bill held his hand out to Valentino, the underboss handing him the same golden revolver he used to threaten Dipper. The brunet eyed the firearm in horror, worried for the fate of the man lying on the hard pavement.

Because Dipper knew the feeling of being at the receiving end of such.

“If only you had given me the parcel and not hid it for yourself, dear Garret, you wouldn’t be in this situation right now,” Bill hissed, stepping a few meters away from Andrews. “And it’s not even my style executing _rats_ in front of a crowd.” He clicked the revolver and pointed it to the scared man. But before Bill could pull the trigger, Dipper jumped in front of him, catching almost everyone in the area off guard.

“D-Don’t,” he stuttered, desperately trying to stop the clattering of his teeth. He held his hand up in a placating manner, licking his dry lips before opening his mouth to speak. “Please don’t.”

Bill clicked his tongue, obviously displeased with the way Dipper acted. “Out of the way, kid else I would have two clips today instead of one,” he threatened. Dipper shook his head vehemently and stood firm in his place.

The brunet inwardly berated himself, annoyed at how stupid he was currently being. Sometimes he hated his hero complex. It was what usually got him beaten and bruised at the end of the day. Mabel, Stan, and even Ford had lectured him about it before, and Dipper knew and accepted the fact that it was a real problem.

But he couldn’t just watch when a man was about to lose his life.

“Stop trying my patience, kid-”

“You can’t kill him! That’s just... messed up!” he cried, Bill sneering at him, the blond extremely pissed at being cut off. Then, the Mafioso let his arm fall to his side, eyebrow shot up in challenge. Dipper glanced around nervously, noticing that they attracted quite a crowd. Not much since they’re in a quiet part of the city, but a crowd nonetheless.

He even won’t be surprised if this gets printed in the newspaper tomorrow. After all, it’s rare to see someone stupid enough to stand against the Mafia.

Unless Bill does something to make these people keep their mouth shut.

“Okay, okay...” Bill started, a chuckle escaping his lips. He gave the revolver back to Valentino, and sauntered towards Dipper, who still eyed him cautiously. Dipper looked up at the Mafioso, the man smirking down at him. He suddenly clasped both his gloved hands, making Dipper jerk in surprise. “Why don’t we strike a deal, Pine Tree?” he proposed, tilting his head to mock Dipper.

“A deal?” Dipper reiterated while he narrowed his eyes cautiously, pursing his lips as dread started to settle on the pit of his stomach for the umpteenth time that day. What could Bill possibly want from him? He obviously has nothing to give. But he needed to save the man. His conscience would kill him if he just ignored this.

Dipper was sure that he was going to regret this decision 100%. He reluctantly nodded his head, clamping his eyes shut and heart pounding loudly inside his chest. The Mafioso’s smile widened, eye darting to Garret before returning it to the brunet.

“What crazy thing do you want, anyway? To turn me into a smuggler? To make me burn an entire building? Are you going to harvest my organs and sell them to the black market or something?” he asked in a low voice that only both of them could hear. Bill hooted at what he heard, even almost doubling over.

“Yeesh, kid! You need to tone down the caffeine!” he exclaimed, his laughter receding. Bill wiped a nonexistent tear from the corner of his eye before his gaze focused on the brunet. “All I want is a wish! In exchange, of course, for this scum’s life!”

Dipper frowned in confusion. “A wish? Why?” he asked, Bill extending his hand for a handshake. What does this lunatic need a wish for? Dipper was pretty sure that he could get what he wanted just by having his revolver with him.

“Well, let’s just say that I can ‘ask you my wish’ in case I needed you to do something without question.”

Dipper pursed his lips, eyes fixed on the hand presented before him. The deal was risky, with a lot of loopholes to boot. He turned to look at Garret, the man’s eyes scared, but at the same time hopeful. Dipper couldn’t disappoint him now, could he? He sighed loudly, seeing a mental image of himself with an entire leg buried in a grave, and gripped the presented hand in an uncertain handshake. Bill was enthusiastic about it, of course.

“So that’s settled for now!” the Mafioso chirped, slinging an arm around Dipper’s shoulder. He turned to Andrews, face too amiable to be even considered real. “Run along now, Sewer Rat! Before cute Pine Tree here changes his mind! Well, actually, he can’t anymore!” he chuckled, mockingly patting Dipper’s head. Dipper groaned under his breath before Bill started dragging him again back to the car. “Since we still have...” Bill glanced at his golden watch “... more than 3 hours before lunch time, I suggest I’ll tour you around my city! This is Manhattan 101 brought to you by Bill Cipher himself!” he chirped, Dipper slowly dying on the inside.

So much for having the perfect city life.

Dipper looked at Andrews, the man already scampering just to get out of the area.

Man, he was so _fucked_.

+++

After being toured around the city despite being held against his will, Dipper Pines found himself inside a fancy looking restaurant with the crazy Mafioso sitting opposite of him. Their table was located on the far end of the luxurious hall, one that are usually reserved for the most VIP of guests. Dipper would often turn his head around, examining the place and noticing the distinct color scheme of reds and golds, the former more dominant than the latter.

Rich men and women chattered by their tables, seemingly undisturbed by the presence of the Mafioso in the establishment. _They must be used to the Mafia’s presence_ , Dipper thought to himself. Some would often glance their way, but then it would be gone after a second.

Seeing all the patrons of the restaurant made the brunet shrink on himself. He eyed his clothing, nose scrunching as he realized how out of place he looked with his tattered brown overcoat, caramel dress shirt tucked in his chocolate-brown slacks supported by his suspenders, and russet brogues that obviously haven’t been cleaned for a _long_ time. He never really appreciated it when people try to dress him up for formal occasions, or when Pacifica bought him all of those suits. He has no one to impress, after all.

But he regretted not wearing something a little less shabby today. To these people’s eyes, at least.

Sighing, Dipper made himself smaller by pressing his arms to his sides, head bowed to hide his face. Bill watched him in curiosity, a waiter approaching their table with two menus in hand and giving them each. The Mafioso immediately opened his, Dipper reluctantly so. His eyes bulged at the price of each dish (and their names), eyes darting to the blond who was watching him over the menu. Bill’s single visible eye crinkled at seeing Dipper’s reaction.

Closing his menu, Bill turned to the waiter. “Garlic bread as appetizer for both of us and I’d like a _Filet de Bœuf en Croûte_ with extra Béarnaise Sauce on the side for the entrée.” Bill turned to Dipper, smile wide. “How about you, Pine Tree?” Dipper gulped when the waiter turned to him, eyes meeting Bill’s before he buried his nose on the menu again.

“Uhmmm....” he muttered, eyeing the price of each dish instead of the food itself. “Uh... I’m having what he’s having,” Dipper said while gesturing to Bill. The waiter raised an eyebrow, but wrote his order quickly. Bill snorted at Dipper, a hand covering his mouth. The brunet, in reply, narrowed his eyes at him.

“What about your beverage, sir?” the waiter asked.

“A bottle of cabernet sauvignon, please. Pine Tree?” he asked again, Dipper pursing his lips. Did the man not get it? Or is he purposely doing this to irk him? He might be a literature graduate, but he’s having trouble with the names, damn it.

After a few seconds of silence, Dipper spoke up, “Lemonade. I want lemonade.” The waiter bowed and turned to leave, Bill immediately chuckling when the waiter was out of sight. The brunet’s face reddened, lower lip stuck out in a small pout. “What?” he snapped when Bill made it obvious that he won’t be stopping anytime soon.

“N-Nothing,” he snickered, his chuckles slowly receding. He composed himself for a moment before sitting up straight, his golden eye meeting Dipper’s chestnut ones. “You’re adorable when flustered.” Dipper’s eyes widened, getting creeped out with the Mafioso in front of him.

Then he scowled at him, annoyed at being continuously mocked by the blond. He rested his chin on his hand, deciding that he would ignore the man for the rest of the afternoon. Silence flitted between the both of them, Dipper observing his surroundings while Bill was observing him. His eye would often glance back to the blond just to see if the man had darted his attention to something else, only to see that the blond was still staring at him. Not a few minutes had passed, Dipper got quite uncomfortable at being scrutinized.

“So...” he started, fingers tapping languidly on the table. He looked for a topic, anything that could stop the capo from staring at him like he was some sort of specimen. “What’s the real reason why I’m here?”

“I already told you, kid. I just needed someone to eat lunch with,” he replied coolly.

“Yeah, but _why_?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation.” Bill flipped his menu open again, this time looking at the desserts. “Do you want some _crème brûlée_ , Pine Tree? Or would you rather have a syllabub?” he asked, smiling widely at Dipper.

When the brunet was about to snap at him, he saw a familiar woman with long, silky blonde hair enter the room. Her sunhat covered half of her face, making it impossible for Dipper to fully recognize the woman. His eyes narrowed as he examined her, Bill still engrossed with the menu, babbling a list of sweets Dipper never even knew existed. The young man had a suspicion that he knew the woman. Even had a feeling that she was _her_.

When the woman turned to her right to talk to one of her associates, Dipper’s suspicion was confirmed.

She was none other than Pacifica Northwest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am NOT guilty for rummaging through our old cookbooks (no frequent internet connection haha *sweats*) just to find a long-ass-hard-to-pronounce-fancy-looking main dish for the sake of this fic. Nope, definitely not. 
> 
> I'm a loser, I know...
> 
> Happy holidays, everyone! :D


	8. What a Day Spent with the Demon Feels Like Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first of all, not everything I wrote here is advisable. Simply removing a bullet without proper knowledge is dangerous. But I’m guessing you guys already know that. 
> 
> Aaand, I’m not too sure about this chapter. But hey, since when have I been sure about anything?
> 
> Still sorry for the inaccuracies though. Believe me, I try my hardest to lessen them.

Dipper slowly opened the menu in front of him and lowered his head, his cheek in contact with the soft cloth covering the mahogany table. _Holy shit! Holy shit!_ , Dipper screamed inwardly. This day really had it for him. Of all places, Pacifica had to be here. Bill looked up from his menu, tilting his head to look at Dipper oddly.

“Kid, what are you doing?” he asked, Dipper peeking at him over the menu. He harshly gestured his head towards Pacifica’s direction, Bill whipping his head to look at the object of his worry. His eye lit up in recognition, the corners of his lips twitching upward. “Your lady? 

Dipper ignored the question, used to being assumed that he and Pacifica were an item by almost everyone. Bill’s smile faltered for a bit, frown adorning his face before it became another full blown grin.

Despite the position he was in, Dipper managed to shake his head at the blonde’s oddness. If Bill Cipher becomes a part of his city life, he might as well learn how to go along with it.

Not that he wants him to be part of his life. Dipper has no choice.

Right?

“Then why are you hiding from her?” Bill chuckled, grabbing Dipper’s menu away from his face. The brunet held his grip on the menu tighter, pulling it down from Bill. “It’s not like were on a date!”

Dipper’s face immediately scrunched in disgust, glaring at the Mafioso halfheartedly.

“Gross!” he almost cried aloud, wrenching Bill’s fingers from the menu while the other one did the job of still keeping it in front of his face. He clicked his tongue in irritation, the blonde obviously amused at the current scenario they were in.

Their waiter arrived to them fighting for the menu. Both men straightened up as they noticed their server, Dipper feigned coughing to hide his embarrassment. The asshole, of course, was still laughing at his expense. The waiter looked at them weird before placing their appetizers and beverages in front of them, Bill giving their server a small thank you.

Dipper reluctantly turned his head to Pacifica’s direction, the woman and her associates’ table located southeast of their seat. He immediately whipped his head back when Pacifica’s vision turned to their table, bringing his right hand up to hide his face.

Bill tutted at him while he poured a decent amount of wine in his burgundy glass. He raised it to Dipper and brought the glass to his lips, vision never leaving the brunet whose attempt at hiding obviously failed. If only he could, Dipper would definitely wipe that smug face the asshole was flashing him. But for now, he could only glare at Bill.

“You know, Pine Tree, you’re being obvious,” he commented, picking up a piece of garlic bread and popping it in his mouth. Dipper raised an eyebrow in question, Bill smiling widely as he clasped his gloved hands. He rested his elbows on the table and leaned in. “Only idiots try to hide like that.”

“How should I hide then, oh great criminal?” Dipper hissed, lacing as much venom in his words as he can. Bill, thick-skinned as he always was, only chuckled louder. “That woman knows me and would recognize me in whatever angle. She’ll know me once she sees the back of my head!”

“And you really think she hasn’t noticed you with the way you’re acting right now?” Bill scoffed, attention now focused on Pacifica. Dipper’s eyes widened, realization sinking down on him. As much as he hated to admit it, Bill was right. He was calling attention to himself unintentionally. “She’s pretty. You got quite the catch.”

Eyebrows meeting in a scowl, Dipper directed his best death glare at Bill. “Listen here, Cipher...” he almost snarled, the blond unfazed by his small show of aggression. Dipper didn’t care whether he can deter Bill or not. What’s important was he get his point across. “I don’t care of all the horrid things that you can do. Hurt a single strand of hair on her head and you’ll have a man after your throat.”

Bill only laughed through his nose. “Well, it’s a long line, Pine Tree. Think you can wait?” he mocked, popping another bread in his mouth. Dipper narrowed his eyes even more, a hand gripping the table cloth as if wanting to shred it into pieces. “But don’t you worry, Pines. I have my eyes set on something more... interesting,” he added, eyeing Dipper with intensity.

It made Dipper visibly gulp.

The brunet looked away, with the intention of both hiding from Pacifica and not meeting Bill’s gaze. He picked a piece of bread from his plate, bringing it to his mouth with a grumble. Bill, now glorifying the taste of his wine, still had his eye glued to him. Dipper finished the last of the appetizer, holding the glass of lemonade and awkwardly sipping it with his head turned in the opposite direction Pacifica was in.

Their waiter arrived and gave them both their meal. Dipper’s eyes flickered to the waiter, who seemed to be giving him an odd look, before he brought his hand to his neck and rubbed it. It had started to sore with how long he stayed in such position. Steam coming from the food wafted through the air and made its way towards Dipper’s nostrils, making him salivate. He seldom got to eat foods like these, only being able to taste them whenever Pacifica invited him and Mabel to one of her rich parties. Stan is a cheap-ass conman who only grumbles, ‘If you’re really hungry, you’re willing to eat anything.’ whenever they demand something more than his shoddy choices of food products. Ford doesn’t seem to have any problem with it, and is more than willing to eat anything as long as it helps him stay alive.

Which was the bane of Mabel and Dipper’s lives.

“Shall we eat?” Bill said as he gestured to their meal, picking up a cutlery, and dug in his food.

Dipper flicked the fork on his right before he picked it up and started poking the crisp dough that covered the beef filling. He tried to bring it to his mouth, but with direction he was facing from, it almost fell on the floor. He managed to quickly direct the fork above the plate, and Dipper mentally cursed whatever being was hell-bent on making his life miserable that day.

As he was about to try again, he felt something soft perch on his messy brown locks.

And then he saw Bill sitting back down on his seat, his black fedora no longer on his head. He picked his cutlery and resumed eating.

What?

Dipper brought a hand to his head and felt the soft texture of Bill’s hat. He eyed the Mafioso in bewilderment, his eyes asking a question he was too perplexed to ask. Bill only smirked at him, swallowed his food, and took a sip from his wine.

“I brought you here to have lunch with me, not to look like a fucking idiot,” Bill answered nonchalantly. Dipper scowled lightly at the insult, but started to eat anyway. It’ll only tire him if he tried to figure out the Mafioso’s real intentions. “And you look good in that! You sure you don’t want to join my crew?” the blond piped out of nowhere, Dipper almost choking on his food.

“N-No, thank you,” Dipper managed to say. “I’m not interested.”

Bill only shrugged and their meal resumed in silence, Dipper still cautious of having Pacifica in the same building with him. As much as he didn’t want to hide from the girl, he shouldn’t exactly be seen with an infamous criminal else Pacifica will have him directly shipped back to Gravity Falls. Like, literally shipped. Pacifica would be so mad that she’ll just stuff him inside a crate and send him straight back to the sleepy town in Oregon.

And everything he had worked for would go to waste.

As he downed the last of his lemonade, someone passed by their table, Dipper immediately tensing up at the contact of fabric to fabric. He sputtered, the juice almost leaving his mouth. He warily looked up and exhaled in relief when he saw that the woman who had passed by their table was not who he dreaded. Pacifica and her colleagues might be good distance away from them, but one could never be too careful.

Bill called the waiter, ordering himself a sherbet and turned to Dipper for his. The brunet only glared at him in reply, Bill’s smile broadening while turning back to the waiter and choosing a crème caramel for him. When the waiter bowed and left, Bill leaned in and raised another mocking eyebrow at Dipper.

“Kid, there’s a reason why you’re wearing my hat,” he said, voice laced with mild amusement. Dipper wanted to snap at him, shout profanities at him even, but held his tongue. The man he was with was insane and might sold him out in whatever way he thought fun. “You need to relax. She won’t see you.”

“I just can’t let her see me, okay? She’s the reason why I’m here and if she knows what things I’ve been tangled into...” he said as he gestured to Bill, shrugged, and worried his lower lip. Bill’s eyebrow lowered, his expression turning mildly curious. “I’ll return to Gravity Falls, whether I like it or not.” Silence settled between them, Bill studying him intently. Their waiter arrived with their order, the two not even acknowledging him even after he left. Dipper squirmed on his seat, growing more and more uncomfortable as the seconds ticked by. He doesn’t really appreciate being stared at, and the Mafioso was exactly doing the opposite of that.

With another shrug, Bill picked his teaspoon and started eating his sherbet. He gestured for Dipper to start digging in on his dessert, and the brunet did without protest. He took a generous amount from the custard, almost moaning at the flavor that seemed to explode on his tongue. Mabel’s sweets were always delicious, but these were just mouthwatering. Bill’s eye immediately darted to him, his golden orb wide and somewhat surprised.

Then Bill’s face lit up. “You seem to like it!” he chimed, leaning in and grabbing a spoonful of Dipper’s dessert. “Haven’t really tried this one yet!” he chuckled before sticking the spoon in his mouth.

“Hey!” Dipper protested quietly, eyes narrowing at Bill. He pulled his dessert closer to him, the blonde rolling his eye in disbelief. He doubts Bill haven’t tried the dessert he had ordered for him. The asshole was just obviously trying to rile him up.

“Jeez, you’re greedy!” Bill sniggered, scooped a spoonful of his sherbet, and shoved it in Dipper’s mouth. The younger man’s face immediately contorted to mortification, swallowing the sherbet before removing Bill’s spoon out of his mouth. Does this man not know what proper table etiquette was? Or was he just trying his damn hardest to make Dipper lose his temper, reveal himself to Pacifica, and probably make him hate the Mafioso even more.

“You’re gross!” Dipper cried (still quietly because he’ll be dead once Pacifica finds out he’s here), and wiped his mouth with the sleeves of his coat. The sherbet tasted good, but man, what Bill did was disgusting in so many ways than one. The blond seemed to not see what the problem was, and resumed eating his dessert.

“Well, you know what they say, an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,” he muttered as if what he did was the most mundane thing in the world. “And the same goes for desserts!” Dipper’s mouth only went agape, and he groaned at Bill and his questionable way of thinking.

“Well, that spoon just came from your mou-” Dipper was immediately cut off when another woman passed by their table. He instantly ducked his head low, face almost smacking against the table. When he took a peek, he only saw a woman somewhere in her forties, her hair in a tight bun. He sighed loudly and sat straight.

“You are stupid,” Bill commented as he ate the last of his sherbet. He wiped his lips with a napkin as his eye flickered towards Pacifica’s direction, and smiled subtly, Dipper not noticing it even a tiny bit. Then his eye widened and his eyebrows met. “Oh, shit,” he mumbled quietly, Dipper’s trepidation skyrocketing at what he just heard the Mafioso mutter.

“What?! What?!”

“She’s coming this way!” he exclaimed, Dipper panicking on his seat. The brunet tried to stand up, but sat back down halfway through it while Bill kept on muttering ‘She’s getting closer!’ over and over again. When Dipper was sure that he was about to faint in sheer panic, the Mafioso laughed jovially, hands clutching his stomach. The brunet froze at the sudden burst of glee from Bill, hands now gripping the white mantle as if it was his lifeline. His head tilted to the side in confusion, the blonde’s laughter slowly receding.

“What-” 

“She’s been gone for a while now, kid,” Bill snickered, a hand gesturing toward Pacifica’s table. The brunet tilted his head more, Bill only extending his hand, before he warily turned his head to see if what the capo said was true.

It was true.

Well, that was anticlimactic.

Not that he was complaining. Thank lady luck.

Dipper’s eyes visibly relaxed, his shoulders sagging as he leaned back on his seat. Pacifica and her associates had finally left. Now he can breathe and move around freely. He let the temporary bout of relief rest on his shoulders, until he saw Bill still sniggering like a lunatic. That’s when he remembered what the asshole just did to him.

Forehead scrunching, Dipper grabbed his napkin and threw it at Bill’s face, which didn’t help but fuel the Mafioso’s amusement.

“W-What?” he said in between chuckles.

“You asshole!” Dipper almost cried, garnering the attention of the other patrons of the restaurant. “You knew she was already gone! And you- you-!” The brunet waved his hands wildly in frustration. “You took advantage of me!” He slumped on his seat, sighing a sigh of exhaustion while resting a hand on his forehead.

“That’s what I do best, kid,” Bill said with a wink, Dipper’s face contorting in disgust for the umpteenth time that day. He took a piece from his custard and decided that maybe, _maybe_ , the dessert would make up for all the things Bill had done that day.

His vision flitted back to the Mafioso, who was still laughing, and realized that nothing will probably make him hate Bill less.

Probably.

No.

Definitely.

+++

The car screeched to a halt in front of the bricked apartment Dipper was currently staying in. The sun had already set, the moon and stars immediately decorating the night sky. The brunet raked a hand through his hair, and puffed out a small breath. The car was silent, save for the tune the radio was playing.

Dipper wondered what Bill’s real motive was. It’s stupid to say that today’s meeting had no ulterior motive. Bill clearly wanted something from him, if that ‘wish’ was any indication. Did it have something to do with what Bill offered him a while ago? Did the Mafioso really see him as someone who would live a life of a criminal? Did Bill really want him in his family?

Why?

Dipper was snapped out of his thoughts when he realized that they were already in front of his apartment building. He opened the door, slightly annoyed that Bill had to drive him home. Dipper protested, of course. But Bill, being Bill, refused to accept no for an answer, only saying, ‘You’re under my protection, remember?’ The brunet grumbled at first, but then kept his mouth shut and ignored Bill for the rest of the car ride.

Hastily walking towards his apartment, Dipper met the eyes of the new guard the same time Bill opened his side of the door, and followed him on the steps. The guard’s eyes widened at seeing the criminal, a hand inching towards his Colt. 45 semiautomatic pistol. The brunet shook his head, silently telling him that what he was about to do would be the most horrible idea of the day.

Bill seemed to have noticed the watchman’s hand resting on his handgun, and shot him a dirty look.

“I assure you, kid, you’ll regret that,” he warned darkly before turning to Dipper, cheery expression returning in a flit of second. “I enjoyed today, Pine Tree...” he said and offered Dipper a gloved hand. The brunet’s eye flickered to the guard, who had fear plastered all over his face, before he took it, the Mafioso giving it one firm shake.

“I can’t say the same on my part,” he muttered quietly, hoping that Bill heard it. If the blond did, he gave no indication.

Bill’s eye flickered to his forehead, then to the sky, then back to him. “I noticed that birthmark on your forehead. Is it the reason you're nicknamed Dipper?” he asked, hand flying to flatten Dipper’s bangs. The brunet’s eyes widened (and probably the guard’s too) as Bill started to invade his personal space. Again.

“Huh. Weird,” Bill mumbled, leaning in to inspect the constellation on Dipper’s forehead. “Sure this isn’t permanent marker or something?” Dipper looked up at Bill with a crease on his forehead.

“You are fully aware that permanent markers do fade, right? Especially with sweat?”

Bill hummed and nodded, backing a few steps away from the brunet. Dipper inwardly sighed at the distance he and the Mafioso finally had between them.

“But why the Big Dipper?” he asked aloud, a hand under his chin in a thinking gesture.

Dipper shrugged and turned around, wanting to feel the bed underneath him after a very long and tiresome day. But before he could walk past the guard, a hand wrapped around his wrist and turned him around a little too roughly.

“Rude,” Bill commented, but chuckled after. “But that’s the reason why you’re interesting. You’re both afraid and fearless of me.”

Dipper shook his head, a small laugh escaping his lips due to the hilarity of his situation. Bill’s expression immediately turned blank, eye boring into the brunet as if Dipper had done something that personally offended him. The brunet’s laughter ceased, eyes returning the gaze the older man had been giving him.

“What?”

Bill’s smile returned, even wider now, and let go of Dipper’s wrist. Without another word, he turned around and strode towards his car. Dipper watched him in confusion, perplexed why Bill could be so hard to read. The brunet had prided himself when it came to reading people, using it as a defense mechanism to protect himself and Mabel from potential bullies at school.

Bill opened the car’s door, but before he entered said vehicle, he stopped and turned to Dipper.

“But really, Pines, I had fun today,” he said with a small bow while one arm extended outward. “ _Buona notte, Albero di Pino!_ ” he yelled before getting inside the vehicle and slamming the door.

Dipper watched the vehicle disappear from his sight, finally able to relax for the first time that day. The cool wind blew stronger, gently disturbing the hat on his head. Oh right, he still has Bill’s fedora. Dipper took the hat off, thumb languidly tracing the soft felt of the brim. Bill was, to say it simply, eccentric. For an infamous Mafia boss, the man sure was easygoing, always joking around as if he hadn’t done anything illegal. Though, he was definitely scary when provoked. Dipper was sure the man had spilled countless of blood with his hands, and it’s obvious that he’s willing to spill even more for the sake of his own wants and needs.

And Dipper hated how much he got tangled into this mess.

“If what I believe I saw is what I saw, then you’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Dipper Pines.”

Dipper instantly whipped his head to the direction of the voice, dread settling on the pit of his stomach. She was standing there, arms crossed over her chest and face contorted in anger. The brunet gulped visibly, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. This is exactly what he was trying to avoid in the restaurant hours ago. This was the reason why he was trying so hard at hiding, and the reason why he still has Bill’s hat on his hands right now, and the reason why-

Dipper was sure lady luck had a personal grudge against him.

He wanted to raise a hand and wave at the girl, but decided against it. She was pissed. Extremely pissed. Who wouldn’t be? He had done the exact opposite of what she warned him the first day (or night, technically) he stepped in Manhattan.

Unable to form any words, Dipper just nervously gave her a smile, to which she just replied with an upward shot of her perfectly manicured eyebrow. It immediately erased the smile on his face.

“Are you going to start explaining now or will Mabel know how much you fucked up?” Pacifica hissed, Dipper wincing at her swearing. Pacifica seldom swore, especially in public. This is bad.

This is so, so, _bad_.

+++

A single gunshot pierced through the silence of the night, a man’s body falling on the hard pavement with a loud thump. Blood oozed out from the gaping wound on his chest, and a small trickle dribbled out of his mouth. His hand loosened on the parcel he was carrying, a part of the paper package soaked with his sweat and blood.

Blowing the smoke coming out of his Colt revolver, a man in a checked sport coat strode towards the dead man’s limp body. He leaned down, inspecting the corpse’s face. Garret Andrews, former associate of Bill Cipher. Pity he had to die. He was a good _soldati_ (to-be, he just screwed up bad) slash errand boy slash standup guy, able to keep the FBI’s noses out of the crime family for years. If only he hadn’t stolen the parcel, then he wouldn’t be dead right now.

Speaking of the parcel, the man bent down and retrieved the item he was tasked to get. He examined the package in his hand, lips curved down in both incredulity and faux pity.

The things humans were willing to do just to sate their greed.

He took long strides to reach his 1951 Oldsmobile, whistling an old tune he only heard from his car’s radio. He threw the parcel on the passenger’s side before he gunned the engine to life. The man glanced at his wristwatch, face grimacing at seeing the time the watch indicated. Damn, he needs to hurry. If he delivers the parcel late, he’ll be next to Andrews.

And no one would want to be next to Andrews.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I wanna thank you guys, again, for your very kind words. I’m glad that many of you guys actually like this fic and find it interesting. I’m not really someone with the highest self-esteem and I’m pretty sure it didn’t even reach the average. So seeing you guys enjoy something I created made me really happy. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter :D
> 
> And yes, Bill is Italian.


	9. A Confession Made, An Invitation Given, and A Plan Conceived

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anything else, I’d like to apologize for the last chapter. I am happy that many of you guys actually like it. But I am fully aware that it was more confusing than the previous ones. I was going through a tough time (emotionally, mentally, physically, you name it) and it made me kinda depressed and anxious.
> 
> But I think I’m okay now :D 
> 
> I have already edited that previous chapter (and also the other chapters) so I guarantee that they’re less confusing than before. (A huge thank you to the person who told me to reread the last chappie. I did and I found a lot of mistakes. You know who you are!) 
> 
> But I won’t say that they’re 100% error-free. Aaaaand I also made some minor changes. But there are no major ones that require rereading so don’t worry. 
> 
> Well, with that out of the way, I hope you enjoy this chapter and as always, sorry for the inaccuracies!

“Dipper, what did I tell you about the Mafia?”

Dipper gulped visibly as he watched Pacifica pace back and forth in front of him, a hand massaging her forehead. The woman wasn’t just mad, she was furious. How did Dipper know? Well, with the way the woman dragged him towards his flat, he didn’t need her yelling at him for him to. The brunet looked down and stared at his feet, not meeting Pacifica’s ice cold glare.

“You told me to st-”

“I told you stay away from them!” the blonde cut off, guilt and apprehension immediately clouding Dipper’s chest. He wanted to defend himself, tell the blond that he did exactly just that. But fate had other plans for him, and those plans were definitely against what he wanted to happen. “And now look! That Cipher knows you! Do you think he’ll leave you alone?! You’re his new plaything!”

Frown creasing his forehead, Dipper whipped his head to meet the blonde’s eyes. “I’m going to be okay, Paz. 

“No, you’re not! It’s either you go to jail or die!” she cried, exasperated. Dipper clenched his fist on his sides, eyes narrowing in irritation. He was thankful for everything Pacifica had helped him with. But with the way she distrusted him when it came to taking care of himself grated on his nerves. “That’s it, you’re going back to Gravity Falls whether you like it or not!”

Dipper’s eyes widened at her declaration. “Paz, please, you can’t!” he pleaded, eyes starting to water. He can’t go back now. Not yet. He just came here in Manhattan, and he can’t afford to lose the life he had dreamed of for 13 long years. “I’m finally here in the one place I’ve always wanted to since I was a child! You can’t take that away from me!”

“Oh yeah? Watch me.”

Dipper flopped on his bed, face buried in his hands. Helplessness started to weigh in on him as he waited for Pacifica to do the one thing that would have him back to the Falls in a snap. He was a man of his own, yes. He could run away and hide from the blonde forever, yes. He could even find a job, a new home and money, yes. But Pacifica was his friend. And Dipper could never do that to her, even if it costs his dreams.

“I promise not to tell Mabel. She will never know the things I got myself into. She can’t blame you with anything, and she won’t hate you. Just, please Paz-” Dipper immediately cut himself when he noticed Pacifica’s expression turn into offense.

“Do you really think that this is about my relationship with Mabel, Dipper?” she almost spat, hurt dwelling in her eyes. She looked away, in anger or frustration, Dipper didn’t know. Then she turned back to him and her expression softened, settling down on the chair beside Dipper’s bed. “I care for you, Dipper. As much as I care for Mabel,” she mumbled, Dipper’s guilt constricting his chest. He didn’t mean to offend Pacifica. He knows she cares for him despite the girl’s odd way of showing it. “You’re like a brother to me and I don’t know what to do if I lose you. You and Mabel are the only ones I got.”

“S-Sorry...” Dipper mumbled, eyes leveling with Pacifica’s gaze. “You’re like a sister to me too, Paz. But as a sister, I want you to trust me.” He stood up, holding the blonde’s hands for her to follow along. “I am going to be okay and I assure you that I won’t let Cipher turn me into his personal toy.”

Pacifica pursed her lips in worry, still unsure for Dipper’s safety. Dipper squeezed her hands to ease her tense nerves. After a few minutes, Pacifica sighed in surrender, and Dipper grinned widely at her.

“Promise me nothing bad will happen to you. Please, Dipper...” she mumbled before retracting her hands and returning them to her side. She stood straight and fixed herself, her usual bitchy demeanor immediately returning.

Now that’s the Pacifica Dipper could handle.

“I promise, Paz. Don’t worry,” he reassured firmly, both to the blonde and to himself. To be honest, he doesn’t trust Bill doing no harm to him. The man might have granted him protection, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have a change of heart. The brunet knew he should never trust the likes of Bill. A short bout of silence settled between them, and Dipper thought he was off the hook.

He was wrong.

Pacifica crossed her arms over her chest, an eyebrow shot upward. The brunet looked at her questioningly, Pacifica’s expression never shifting one bit. He tilted his head and bit the inside of his cheek, confused as to why the woman was looking at him that way. Was he still in trouble? Or did he unintentionally do something that made her angry again?

When the woman was sure that Dipper didn’t understand her, she asked the question, “Anything else you’d like to share with me? You’ve been hiding this, Dipper Pines. What else are you willing to share? Things that transpired between you and Cipher?”

Dipper groaned loudly, shoulders sagging in weariness. Does he really have to tell everything that happened? The brunet thinks it’s enough for Pacifica to know that he fucked up. She didn’t need to know how he fucked up.

“Stop whining and fess up. I want to hear the full story,” she said- no- _ordered_ sternly.

Dipper sighed before he started, “So after you left that day we first came here, I went out for a stroll.” She gave him an incredulous look which he only replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “Then as I was returning back here, Cipher appeared out of nowhere, pointed a gun at my head and ordered me to help him. He was wounded, a shot on the side. After that, I took him here and removed a bullet lodged in his skin-”

“You did just what?!” Pacifica cried, face contorted into mortification.

“Well, he told me to and I had no choice but to obey! He had a revolver with him!”

“But that doesn’t mean you could go around and cut a hole on someone’s body and remove something! You graduated with a degree in literature, for heaven’s sake!”

“I did what he just asked me!”

Pacifica was about to snap another retort at him, but she stopped herself, both hands clenched in a fist. She breathed in a lungful of air before motioning for Dipper to continue.

“So I did that and then his goons came to fetch him. The next day, a few men started to follow me around for reasons I don’t know, and then he just appeared in the department one day, today, and then bam! That’s how we got this conversation,” he said with finality, Pacifica just watching him with mouth agape and eyes scrutinizing. Beads of sweat started to form on Dipper’s forehead, tongue darting out to lick his dry lips. Pacifica didn’t need to know that he made a deal with the capo. Once she found out, no pleading would stop her from shipping his sorry ass back to Gravity Falls.

“So, that’s it?” she asked, still suspicious with Dipper’s story. Dipper gulped visibly at her intense gaze. “You sure that’s all of it?”

The brunet nodded dumbly before coughing and saying, “A-As far as I remember, yes...” After a few moments, Pacifica rolled her eyes at him, and turned her back on him.

“Fine. I’ll believe you,” she mumbled as she made her way towards the door. But before she opened it, she stopped and turned back to him. “Oh yeah, before I forget.” She opened her purse, a hand reaching inside and pulling out a purple envelope. “I came here to give you this.” She gave him the envelope, Dipper taking it with curiosity. He examined the paper, saw the Northwest’s insignia embossed on it and noticed that it smelled of lilac.

“What’s this for?” he asked as he held the envelope in the air.

“It’s an invitation. For a party my parents are having here in Manhattan,” she said casually, eyes focused on her well-kept nails. Dipper could clearly see how she tried to act indifferent about the whole thing, but he saw past the facade.

Pacifica hated attending parties with her parents as hosts.

“I need an escort and I want it to be you. I hope that’s okay,” she said, voice slightly trembling in nervousness. Dipper bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from smiling, but he wasn’t able to stop it. His grin reached from ear to ear. Seeing his reaction, Pacifica immediately frowned. “W-Well, if you don’t want to, you don’t have to! I have plenty of other men to choose fro-”

“Of course, Paz! Why would I say no?” he asked, amused. Pacifica’s face visibly relaxed, relief clear on her eyes. Dipper chuckled lightly, the blonde composing herself back to her usual demeanor.

“Y-Yeah, why would you say no?” she said with a huff and turned around. “The party will be held next week and I’ll be expecting you not to back out, Dipper.” She opened the door and stepped out of his flat. “And I hope you got rid of those ‘coffee stains’ you spilled on your bedsheets and comforters.”

Dipper's eyes widened. Shit. He forgot about that one. Before he could mentally scold himself, he noticed that Pacifica was already walking down the hallway. “Wait, I’ll accompany you!” he offered, to which she just waved a hand in refusal.

“No need. I’ll be fine on my own. I have Albert waiting for me downstairs.” And with that, she was both out of sight and earshot.

Dipper closed the door, a sigh escaping his lips. That went better than expected. He was sure Pacifica was ready to kill him when she learned about his business with the Mafia. He was thankful the woman wasn’t thinking irrationally due to her anger. Dipper knew Pacifica doesn’t let her emotions take control of her. She was a woman of the mind, not the heart.

But one question bothered Dipper.

Who’s Albert?

The brunet instantly bolted out of his flat just to make sure Pacifica was okay.

+++

In front of the grandeur of his mansion, Bill Cipher gracefully climbed out of his car, humming a tune Valentino always seemed to be so fond of playing on the car’s radio. A few of his _soldati_ ran to his side as he strode towards the large doors of his home. One Mafioso, 8-Ball, approached him and leaned in, whispering something in his ear. Bill visibly perked up, his smile widening even more.

“Why, luck seems to be on my side today!” he chirped, hastily walking towards his study and in the process, leaving all of his _soldati_ behind. Noticing that they were still following him, Bill waved a hand to dismiss the group, his crew dispersing at his command. Being the underboss, Valentino once again scampered to his side, clutching Bill’s golden revolver on his hand for security. The Mafioso’s eye darted to the firearm before he gave the younger man a curious smile. “What do we need that for, Valentino?”

Said man’s forehead creased in a frown, slightly turning his head to look at the capo. “I don’t trust him, boss. Something tells me that he’s bad news. I mean, his smile give me the creeps,” he admitted, Bill snatching the revolver from him. It caught Valentino off guard, and his eyes widened as Bill walked faster than him, twirling the revolver between his fingers in a relaxed manner. It was obvious that the underboss wanted to warn him about the dangers of flipping the gun around, but was too afraid to do so.

“Nah, he ain’t some trouble making bastard! He’s a great help to our family, can’t you see?” he declared, abruptly stopping when he walked past the door of his study. He took a few steps backwards and stopped in front of the door, flinging the revolver back to the underboss. Valentino almost hadn’t caught the gun, but sighed audibly when he finally had a grip on it. Bill chuckled at him and opened the door to his study, motioning for Valentino not to follow him inside. The man with inky black hair reluctantly nodded, apprehension still clear on his face.

Once he closed the door, Bill extended his arms outward, a wide grin plastered on his face. The man on his office turned to look at him, his eyes wide and a croissant between his lips. His hair was raven black, a derby perched snugly on it. He wore an overcoat over his plain white shirt and donned a black tie, slacks, and oxfords. “Tad Strange! A sight for a sore eye you are!” he exclaimed, the man, Tad Strange, managing a smile despite chewing on the croissant. Bill sauntered towards him, Tad standing up to give him his greetings. But before he could, Bill motioned for him to stay seated. The blond patted him on the shoulder before he went to sit on his chair.

“Sorry to disturb your evening, sir. I just have something to... Well, I wouldn’t say important...” he trailed off, taking another bite of his croissant. He closed his eyes as he relished in the taste of his bread, his smile never leaving his features. “Just for courtesy’s sake, I guess,” he mumbled after he swallowed his food. Bill nodded absently before resting his elbows on the desk, intertwining his fingers, and resting his chin on them.

“Great. Tell me about it later. Any news about Andrews?” he asked, Tad turning to look at him as he sipped on his tea. Strange chuckled lightly before his usual demeanor returned. “So?” Bill asked again, an expectant look on his face. Whatever Tad was laughing about, he had no idea. The man had the tendency to snigger at even the smallest things, and Bill had gotten used to it.

“My men still haven’t found Andrews, if that’s what you’re implying,” he answered, picking up another bread, a ciabatta this time, and munching on it. “But I heard you had him at gunpoint this morning. Why set him free? You wouldn’t have this trouble right now if you just pulled the trigger.”

Bill hummed, still amazed at Tad and all the informants he had around the city. “Ah, word do fly fast, don’t they?” he chuckled, Tad lightly snickering along. The man with raven hair pushed the tray of bread towards Bill, the Mafioso declining the offer with a wave of his hand. “To answer your question... Would it be enough to say that someone interfered with it? In a good way, I mean.”

Tad looked at him, eyes slightly confused. He placed his ciabatta back on the tray and dusted the crumbs off of his hands. “Sorry, I don’t think I understand,” he said honestly and Bill’s smile widened, seeing this as an opportunity to talk with Tad about his current interest.

“Let’s just say a man made a deal with me just to save him, and it is tilting on my favor.” Bill reclined on his chair, his hand picking a fountain pen on the table and began twirling it between his fingers. “He’s the most intriguing thing this place had ever been graced with. A snarky, apprehensive, too-smart-for-his-own-good editorial columnist...”

Tad gave Bill a knowing smile. “Ah, another one.” Bill’s eye instantly flickered to Tad, a frown creasing his forehead. Since when had he met and known another columnist? Bill was sure Dipper Pines was the first journalist he messed with. When Tad noticed the look of pure bafflement on his face, he chuckled before answering the blond, “Seems like you’ve forgotten about him.”

“Forgot who now?”

“Terrence Lory, a columnist from the Northwest’s publishing house,” he answered, looking at Bill for any sign of recollection. Bill frowned even more in an attempt to remember if he ever met someone who went by that name. Nope. Nothing. Tad’s smile went wider, to the point that it was downright creepy. He knew Tad Strange smiled a lot, but sometimes it made him wonder if it was the only expression he could do. “You had him killed last month.”

And something immediately clicked on Bill’s mind. “Oh! He was the one Pine Tree replaced!” Bill chimed, slapping his forehead in amusement. “Man, I can’t believe I forgot about him!”

Tad tilted his head to the side, eyes confused despite the never leaving smile on his face. “Pine Tree?”

“Oh, he’s this columnist I was talking to you about! Oh man, oh man! This is golden!” he snickered, Tad nodding in understanding. After Bill’s laughter receded, a dangerous smirk replaced it.

“You have plans for him, I’m guessing.”

Bill nodded, tongue tracing every tooth in his mouth that it could reach. “Yes, very different from that Parrot’s.” He stood up, sauntering towards the large glass window located behind his desk. He crossed his arms on his chest, overlooking the city that cowered before him. “I don’t want him to end up like Lory. I hope he doesn’t make the same stupid mistake of challenging me by writing some stupid articles badmouthing me and this family,” he seethed, eye narrowing dangerously.

And Terrence Lory did just that, sputtering vital information about the crime family from who-knows-where he got. Bill was still investigating whether it was someone from the inside, a member breaking their oath of _Omertà_. Lory challenging the _borgata_ was the main reason why he’s cemented inside a barrel right now and thrown into the sea. Tad hummed his reply, Bill taking it as sign that he was both listening and urging him to continue. “I have granted him my protection, but I also want him to be on my side. Someone to influence those puny commoner minds. You know how much the media can influence them.”

“Don’t you already have Manhattan on the palm of your hands? What do you need this kid for?” Tad piped up, Bill turning around to look at him. He leaned on the glass behind him and tsked at the raven haired man.

“There’s still really a lot of things you need to know, Strange. But truth be told, I won’t hesitate to take him down if he poses as a threat to our organization. He will not be the first journalist I dispatched and he won’t be the last,” he muttered before sitting back down on his chair. “Yeesh! Our conversation is turning kinda dark! So, what are you here for?” he asked, Tad perking up as he remembered the real purpose why he was there. He scanned his surroundings, eyes lighting up as he saw the purple envelope he brought with him. He slid the envelope across the table, Bill stopping its skidding with ease. His nose scrunched when he saw the Northwest’s insignia embossed on the back of it.

“They obviously don’t want you there, only sending that out of fear and civility. You protecting their business and all that,” Tad said, grabbing his half-eaten ciabatta from the tray. Bill tapped his fingers on the table in succession, sucking on a teeth as he contemplated. “You really don’t have to attend if you don’t want to.”

“They have a sole heiress, right? I haven’t actually met nor seen pictures of her. Didn’t care enough to find out how she looked like. Heck, she probably doesn’t even know that their business is under our protection!” Bill mused aloud, flicking the invitation away from him. He never liked the smell of lilacs. He wanted to burn the thing to ashes, but decided against it.

“You’re being careless with the Northwests. But she’s a beauty… That I could tell you,” Tad commented, pouring a decent amount of tea on his now empty cup. Bill flashed him an amused smile to which Tad replied with a smile of his own. “I am merely stating facts. Though, many say she has a nasty attitude.”

“Wonderful! I think I would love to meet her in person!” Bill exclaimed, Tad’s smile widening even more, probably quite used to Bill’s antics and did not question why he suddenly wanted to meet the Northwest’s heiress.

“The party’s next week, by the way. And you would want someone to bring with you. It’s indicated on the card.”

Bill gave him an incredulous yet amused smile. “Snoop around other people’s invitations, why don’t you,” he snickered, not really minding if Tad had read the letter. It was just a damned invitation anyway, not something he should go nuts about. As long as it was not something confidential, then Bill has no reason to cut Tad’s hand off. Besides, Tad knows where his boundaries lie. He was one of the most loyal associates Bill ever had.

Their conversation was interrupted when Valentino slammed the door open, eyes wide in both fear and alarm. Both men whipped their head to look at him, the underboss visibly gulping before entering the room. Bill raised an eyebrow at him, silently asking him the question ‘What is it?’ while Tad resumed what he was doing before the underboss barged in.

Valentino inhaled a lungful of air. “It’s about Andrews, sir,” he said, tongue darting out to lick his dry lips. Or maybe because he was nervous. Bill stood up, a frown creasing his forehead. Did his men locate his whereabouts? If so, then Bill had a parcel to retrieve. Personally. But why was Valentino acting as if he was a dog who chewed on his master’s expensive shoe?

“What about Andrews?” he asked, voice dangerously low. Valentino almost shook on where he stood, beads of sweat visible on his exposed forehead. Tad, on the other hand, didn’t even give two shits about Bill’s intimidation, and continued feasting on the bread in front of him.

Valentino took one last gulp before he spoke up, “Andrews is dead, sir. His body was found near the ferry terminal.”

Bill didn’t know what he should be more worried about: acquiring the parcel back or his deal with the Pines kid. With the boy’s line of work, he doubts he wouldn’t know about this immediately. He was sure the kid would put the blame on him, accuse him of having that wretched rat killed. And then the boy would call it quits and end the deal. This could ruin Bill’s plan.

Well, shit. He couldn’t have that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bill is not a good person… And I love how you guys thought this fic was a happy MafiaAU fic! Hope you read the tags again! 
> 
> Sorry if there’s a lot of dialogue. I’ll try to tone them down in the future chapters. But for now, you get this. And yes, Tad is here and he won’t be anything like the fanon Tad. Except for the hat.
> 
> If any of you guys are bored and just wanna talk with someone, feel free to drop me an ask on my tumblr account, izuminatsuki.tumblr.com. I would love talking to you guys. But I will warn you. I’m a huge disappointment. You won’t like me, I swear.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Lots of love from me to all of you! Thanks for reading!


	10. Nothing Will Be Normal Ever Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I still don’t know why I’m writing. I obviously suck at this haha
> 
> Like always, sorry for the inaccuracies and every error found in this fic. Also, sorry for the incorrect translations. As you can see, I am currently using some pretty shady translating apps, and I don’t really trust them.

Dipper huffed out a breath as he checked himself in the mirror. He looked okay, considering that he spent the whole day with Bill yesterday. The man, despite being one of the most feared images in Manhattan, was tiring to be with. His loud personality combined with his devil-may-care attitude took almost the entirety of Dipper’s energy, leaving him still feeling a bit of fatigued. He placed a hand under his eye, examining the bags that formed underneath it. It looked bigger now. Great.

The brunet patted his unruly hair a good few minutes before completely giving up. He got out of the bathroom, immediately making a beeline towards his desk to retrieve some of his files. His eyes landed on the fedora beside it, and seeing the two together made his stomach churn unpleasantly. That’s right, the publishing house. Oh, how would Dipper face them? With Bill’s stunts yesterday, he wasn’t too sure his coworkers would be glad seeing him walking around. To their eyes, he could be a walking time bomb, no thanks to Bill, of course. 

Pursing his lips, Dipper grabbed everything he needed and went out of his flat, immediately pocketing his keys after locking the door to his room. He hastily descended the stairs, constantly checking his watch as he did so. When he reached the ground floor, Dipper almost bumped into the new guard, the man preparing himself to go home. His eyes widened at seeing the brunet, probably still terrified because of last night’s encounter with an infamous Mafia boss. Dipper’s eye fell on the man’s identification patch, the name ‘ALSTON, M.’ sewn on it. He gave a tight smile to the guard before making his leave and flagging down a taxicab.

When he arrived at the publishing house, he saw the establishment’s security guard from yesterday doing a sign of the cross as he approached, eyes trained on him in a manner Dipper could see as caution. He decided to ignore him, much more focused on getting his job done for the day. Man, Bill really did a number on these people.

He made his way towards the counter to have his timecard stamped, but abruptly stopped when he noticed the way Jemma looked at him. She looked like she had seen a ghost. Dipper smiled at her, acting as if nothing was wrong. He slotted his timecard on the time clock, and immediately left before she could ask him anything.

Everyone he had passed by had the same shocked expression on their faces, and Dipper gave them the same treatment he gave to the guard and Jemma; acting as if everything was fine and dandy.

When he reached their department, he didn’t directly enter the room. He waited for a few seconds, composing himself and calming his wildly beating heart before grasping the bronze doorknob that was too cold to the touch. He tried to quietly swing the door open, but with its worn down state, it only creaked loudly, garnering the attention of his coworkers with shock and disbelief plastered on their faces.

Everything was quiet, too quiet for Dipper’s liking. All their eyes were trained on him, studying him and probably wondering how he was still alive since people who get involved with the Mafia usually end up dead. He frowned slightly, wondering why they would think such. Bill had made it clear that Dipper was under his protection. Well, knowing Bill, his mind could change in a blink of an eye.

Dipper flashed all of them an awkward smile before slipping towards his messy desk, and deciding that he should really just ignore them. He set himself on piling and organizing all the paperwork that accumulated since yesterday, silently groaning at the height of the stack. As a columnist, he made it his job to know everything that was going on in Manhattan, his work even extending to reading every news article that will be published on the daily newspaper. He promptly sat down, categorizing the papers in their respective topics. He abruptly stopped at what he was doing when he felt an addition of two sets of eyes fall on him.

“Dipper?” the woman called out, Dipper recognizing it as Anastasia’s. He lifted his head to look at the woman, her expression the same with her colleagues, while the man beside her, Carl, beamed at him before pursing his lips. “You’re alive!” she exclaimed loudly, almost skidding her way to Dipper’s desk, which was something, considering she was wearing high heels. “Oh, gosh! You’re alive! Thank goodness!” She hugged him from across the table, Dipper slightly wincing at the awkward position his body was in. He gave a silent plea to Carl, the man snickering loudly.

After his short peal of laughter, Carl patted Anastasia’s shoulder gently, silently telling her not to torment the poor columnist. She gave him a look, Carl only returning it with his own, and then both of them chuckled while the woman peeled her hands off the brunet.

“Great to have you back, man!” he cheered, both hands grasping Dipper’s own in an enthusiastic handshake. “Everyone thought you’re already rotting behind a dumpster! Glad you’re alive and kicking!”

Dipper laughed uncomfortably, resulting for Anastasia to elbow Carl on the side. “Sorry about this idiot, Dip. He doesn’t have any sense of humour,” she muttered, to which Carl protested indignantly.

The brunet only waved a hand in dismissal, and returned his attention in sorting out the paperwork.

“Nah, it’s alright. I’m used to Carl’s jokes anyways. Well, kinda used to it,” he mumbled, nose slightly scrunching at seeing a picture of a somewhat familiar man lying on the ground while blood was oozing out of his chest. He flipped the picture and scanned the name of the article it was attached to, the name only written as ‘Article 3’. He’ll read that for later. Right now, sorting his workplace was top priority. “Santi makes far worse.”

Anastasia chuckled and hooked her arm with Carl’s, starting to drag him away from the brunet’s table. “Well, as much as we love to know what happened- You don’t need a doctor, do you?” she suddenly asked, her eyes immediately scanning Dipper from head to toe. Deeming he was okay and not in dire need of medical attention, she continued, “We have a deadline to catch up. Carl here’s slacking off since yesterday. His fear of the Mafia paralyzed his entire body.”

“Okay, first of all, it was you who was paralyzed,” he objected, his index finger pointed accusingly at the woman. She raised an eyebrow at him, expression in faux disbelief. “And second, I don’t slack off nor am I afraid of the Mafia.”

Anastasia snorted and rolled her eyes before giving Dipper a small wave, both she and Carl returning to their respective desks. It made his heart swell knowing that those two cared for him. They were part of the few who he considers as his friends here in Manhattan. Speaking of friends, where were Santiago and Martha? Knowing those two, they never arrive late for work. They might be up to something important.

After he was done with the rigorous task of organizing his desk, Dipper slumped down on his seat and huffed a breath. He was never really fond of cleaning, Mabel was the one who usually handled that chore back in the shack, and was good at it without doubt. But he does try his best to keep his apartment clean, his twin’s daily reprimands already drilled down into the core of his being.

His eyes landed on the picture he had seen earlier, remembering that he did plan on reading its article first. He scanned through the paperwork, and smiled broadly when he found what he was looking for. He leaned on his swivel chair, bringing the article to eye level.

** FORMER MAFIA ASSOCIATE FOUND DEAD **

Dipper’s eyes immediately widened at what he read. He sat straight, eyebrows slowly meeting in a scowl, and teeth biting the soft flesh of his lips. Could it be? Had Bill broken their deal? Was Andrews already dead? Dipper decided to read the article further, eyes falling on the picture, and hoping against hope that his suspicions were wrong.

_Garret Christopher Andrews, known to be a former associate of the Cipher Crime Family, had been found dead yesterday near the ferry terminal. Autopsy reports showed that the cause of his death was a direct gunshot to his heart. The police ha-_

Before he could finish reading the article, the telephone on his desk rang loudly, the brunet jerking in surprise at the interruption. He aggressively picked the receiver, already having a hunch of who was calling. Dipper placed the receiver on his ear, but before he could say a word, the person from the other line had already beaten him to it.

“Before you make any assumptions-”

“You had him killed?! I thought we had a deal?!” he whisper-screamed in utter disbelief, eyes wide with apprehension. He wildly looked around, tone hushed in fear of someone overhearing his conversation with the crazy Mafioso.

“That’s the funny part. I did not have him killed,” the blonde chuckled humorlessly from the other side, which only made Dipper even more apprehensive and tense despite the man not being physically there. He heard the click of the man’s tongue before he spoke up again, “Kid, believe me when I say this: I’m not responsible for Sewer Rat’s death, nor my entire _borgata_. For once, we’re innocent.”

Dipper replied with a humorless laugh of his own. “And I should trust you, why? For all I know, you could be planning my funeral.”

“Psh! I won’t even bother! The dumpster’s a good place, no?” Bill scoffed, Dipper scowling at the blond’s remark. Considering he saved Bill’s life, a decent funeral would be enough payment. After all, it was never easy to be on the constant verge of paranoia with the Mafioso’s goons tailing him around.

When the brunet caught himself with those morbid thoughts, he mentally slapped his cheek. _Not the point, Dipper!_ , he thought incredulously.

“ _Ragazzo_ , I keep my words. It’s up to you whether to believe them or not. But I didn’t kill him,” Bill said almost sincerely. If the blond was there with Dipper, he was sure his intense gaze would be directed solely at him. There was a sound of movement from the other side of the line before Bill’s voice came coming back. “We’ll talk later, kid. I have a business to attend to. See ya’ at eight?” And then the line went dead.

“Wait, what?!” Dipper almost screamed at the receiver, as if the action alone would make Bill pick up again and clarify his words. But he knew it was impossible. He placed the receiver back down, the gears on his head still turning as he tried to process the conversation he just had with the lunatic.

_See ya’ at eight?_

Dipper slumped tiredly on his chair, a hand massaging his forehead. See him _where_? The asshole just slammed the receiver back down, not even elaborating where they would meet, and leaving the brunet worrying what Bill had planned for tonight. Would he have him kidnapped and brought in an abandoned warehouse or something? Or would the creep just pop out of nowhere like how he usually does? Dipper sighed. It’s not even 10 yet and he’s already tired, no thanks to Bill, of course.

Dipper leaned his elbows on the desk and cradled his arms, overthinking the weight of his problems involving a certain blond Mafioso. Sucking on a teeth, he pulled a notepad near him and picked a blue fountain pen from his pen holder, opting to use the two items instead of his typewriter. This way, he can sort his ideas more, and prevent himself from constantly getting into a block.

After a short period of time spent chewing on his pen, Dipper was finally able to come up with what he wanted to write. He slouched a little more, dedicated on writing the article he hoped would open the eyes of the people in Manhattan about how it isn’t right to be ruled by such an abhorrent man.

**The Mafia: Manhattan’s Boon or Bane?**

Dipper studied the title for his new article, unsure whether he should really write it or not. Knowing Whittaker’s connections with Bill, the brunet was sure the man wouldn’t allow him to write such articles. He wasn’t even sure about Editor Innsbruck’s opinion about this issue. He chewed on his pen more as he thought about it, resulting for the pen to give up, and smear ink on his mouth and chin. He spluttered wildly, hand flying to wipe some ink off his tongue. Some of his colleagues turned to him, but after seeing him how he normally is, decided to turn away.

When he was sure (probably) that all of the ink on his face were gone, Dipper sat back down and sighed in relief at seeing his pad of paper unharmed. He picked another fountain pen, and decided to start over when the department’s door came slamming open, the people inhabiting the room jerking in surprise at the sudden disturbance. Dipper was no exception, and accidentally drew a line on his paper because of it. He looked up, seeing Santiago walking hastily towards him, expression both relieved and terrified. The brunet saw Martha following behind him, her expression a mixture of guilt and worry.

“ _¡Pino, gracias a Dios!_ Thank goodness! You’re alive!” the Spanish man greeted. Dipper promptly stood up, sliding away from his desk to meet Santiago halfway. Without warning, the man wrapped his arms around him, completely catching the brunet off guard. Santiago had been known for his slightly apathetic nature, even laughing at some of the crude news their newspaper publishes, so the gesture was quite a surprise. “ _Estás bien? ¿Te hizo daño?_ Did he hurt you?” Santiago asked out of concern, pulling away after giving Dipper two firm pats on the back.

“Aside from my dignity, he didn’t do anything that could physically harm me,” Dipper joked, laughing a little to ease the tension. When he saw Santiago look at him with incredulity, his laughter faltered. The brunet nodded to regard Martha, the woman situating herself beside Santiago. She flashed him an apologetic smile in return.

“I’m glad you’re okay...” Martha said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you, Dipper. They threatened me to keep my mouth shut.”

Dipper waved a hand at that. “Nah, I understand. I know that the Mafia shouldn’t be messed with.”

“You say that, but you still messed with them,” Santiago piped up, Martha glaring at him through her lashes. The Spanish man just shrugged, resulting for Martha’s glare to intensify. “What did you do exactly? And what happened to you yesterday?”

“Well, it’s a long story...” Dipper mumbled, eyes darting to the paperwork he had behind him. He could see how much his two colleagues wanted to know what happened to him, being journalists and all that. He sighed, and flashed both of them a tight smile. “Care to hear it during lunch?”

Before either Santiago or Martha could respond, Editor Innsbruck entered the room, eyes directed to Dipper. Santiago turned to look at their editor first, then Martha, both visibly tensing up. Editor Innsbruck payed them no mind, giving Dipper a hard stare before opening her mouth to speak.

“Come with me to Whittaker’s office, Pines. We need to talk with you.”

+++

After placing the receiver back down, Bill motioned for Valentino to open the door of his study. The man with inky black hair immediately did so, and two men, 8-Ball and Teeth, entered with a struggling man lodged between them, both his hands clasped behind him with a handcuff. When the trio reached the center of the room, the handcuffed man was immediately shoved down the floor, and as a result, unintentionally kissed the red carpet underneath him.

“Ah! The snitch has been found!” Bill jeered, a golden revolver twirling between his fingers. The man on his knees eyed the boss warily, fear obvious on his features. Bill stood up with a lilt, heels clicking against the oaken floor that wasn’t covered by the carpet. He languidly made his way towards the snitch, as if he had all the time in the world, and was using it to instill fear on the kneeling man. “Thank you for gracing us with your presence!”

“I-It wasn’t me, Boss! I swe-” the man stammered, only to be cut off by a gunshot in front of him. He yelped loudly, managing to scramble away despite the position he was in. He was stopped and shoved back down by 8-ball in a way that could dislocate someone’s shoulder bones severely.

“Did I fucking allow you to talk?” Bill asked casually, the man shaking his head in fear. Bill smiled at him, mocking, his grin reaching from ear to ear. “Good. Glad we could sort that out. Now...” He ordered his two underlings to stand by Valentino, guaranteeing them that the snitch wouldn’t do anything brash. The capo circled the kneeling man, eyes glinting with malicious intent. “I want you to answer some questions.” He knelt on one knee to level his gaze with the petrified man in front of him. “Who else knows about the parcel’s existence?”

The man shook his head vigorously, tears brimming on the corner of his eyes. Bill found it pathetic. For being one of his _soldati,_ the man was obviously a coward. Who the fuck referred him this guy? Maybe he needed to punish him too, for picking an idiot, that is.

Getting irritated at the man’s denial, Bill forcefully shoved the tip of his revolver inside the man’s mouth, earning him muffled wails and pleas from its owner. Tears flowed down his cheeks, the sight becoming even more pathetic in Bill’s eye. No one as cowardly as this should become a part of his _borgata_.

“I’m going to ask again,” he started, pushing the revolver even deeper. “Who’s the fucker you sold information to?”

The man didn’t immediately answer, still pleading to Bill for his life. When Bill made a move to pull the trigger, the man’s eyes widened, and he gave muffled answers that Bill had been waiting to hear. He pulled the revolver out, the man coughing hard.

“H-He threatened me, Boss! Said h-he’ll have my family killed! I j-just want my children and wife to be safe, please!” he sobbed, lowering his head to hide his face. Silence filled the huge room, the man’s cries the only thing echoing against the walls.

“Who is _he_?”

The man’s crying intensified, but just shook his head and refused to look at Bill. He bit his lower lip, beads of sweat trickling and mixing with his tears.

“Ahhh... You’re afraid of him...” Bill stated, feeling a little bit offended. So this bastard right here has someone who he’s more afraid of, someone who he fears more than his own Boss. Does this idiot here even know what Bill’s capable of?

After scrutinizing the pathetic man in front of him, Bill nodded before standing up and circling the still kneeling man. He pulled out a white handkerchief from one of his pockets, and wiped the saliva and mucus that coated his golden revolver. When he was done, he threw the handkerchief on the floor, and stopped abruptly beside the man.

“You know what? You’re lucky I still need you.” And with that, he directed the gun to the man’s thigh, and pulled the trigger. The man screamed in pain, falling on the opposite direction where Bill stood. He tried to pull at his handcuffs to nurse the gaping wound, but was only able to curl into a ball when he realized that his efforts were futile.

Bill smiled manically before making his way to Teeth, and shoving the revolver to the slightly surprised Mafioso. “Have that cleaned. I don’t want any traces of that scums fluids on it,” he ordered, the _soldati_ immediately running off to do what he was told to. Bill then turned to 8-Ball, and gestured to the quivering body behind him. “Take that man to the warehouse. Make sure to get that fucking information out of him.”

8-Ball nodded, and walked over to the man. He knelt on one knee and punched the man square on the face, rendering the snitch unconscious. He picked him up and slung him over his shoulder. Some of the man’s blood dripped on him, 8-Ball grimacing at the sight of the blood staining his well-pressed suit.

“I’ll be off, Boss,” he said before standing up and making his leave. Bill watched him go, still surprised at the strength the man possess. With his large built, he could probably carry 5 fully-grown men without exerting too much effort. He just wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box, nor the most handsome bachelor out there. Well, one can’t have everything.

Except for Bill, of course. He has everything.

Grinning at his slightly narcissistic thoughts, Bill turned to Valentino, and motioned towards the carpet. “Have that cleaned later,” he ordered, turning around and sitting back down on his chair. He took a fountain pen from his holder, and rewrote the draft of a contract laid in front of him. His vision darted to the purple envelope lodged between the books on his desk, making him remember something about the oncoming party.

“Valentino,” he called out, eye returning to the contract he was still polishing. Valentino immediately scampered towards him and stood attentively, awaiting his Boss’ orders. “How’s the preparations for the Northwests’ party going?” he asked, crossing out a word from the paper.

“I’ve called the tailors about it, and they’re working on your attire as we speak,” he reported, Bill giving him a low hum. He spared Valentino a glance before dropping the pen on the desk, glaring at the contract, and then giving the underboss his full attention.

“Good thing they already have my measurements. Saves us time.” He sucked on a tooth, noticing Valentino fidgeting on where he stood. Bill figured that he wanted to ask him something, but was too nervous to do so. “Spit it out, kid.”

Valentino opened his mouth to speak, paused, and opened them again. “Why are you attending the party, Boss? I thought you hate those rich fuckers?”

Bill tapped his fingernails in succession on the mahogany table, creating a rhythm that, for some reasons, soothed him. “Valentino, most of us usually never like the people we work for.” There was a long pause, Bill watching Valentino intensely, the man visibly gulping at the stare directed to him. “But I have to be professional, and separate business from my personal feelings against them. Besides, I think it’s about time I meet their daughter. She’s the sole heiress, after all.”

Valentino nodded, and Bill waved a hand to dismiss him. The underboss gave a small nod, turning and starting for the door. But before he could leave the room, Bill spoke.

“Wait, do you have something planned tonight?”

“Yes, Boss. I kinda promised my wife I’d take her out for dinner.”

Bill nodded absentmindedly, pulling the telephone closer to him. “Tell Hectorogon the address to Pine Tree’s flat. I’ll have him drive me there,” he ordered, and rotated the dial. Valentino looked at him odd, obviously curious about the capo’s plans for the night. Bill flashed him a toothy grin, waiting for the person he was calling to pick up. “ _Cosa?_ Can’t I visit my favorite columnist?” he chuckled.

Lips pursed and eyebrows meeting in a frown, Valentino muttered an ‘Okay, Boss.’ before leaving the room. Bill watched the door close, and brought his attention back to the telephone as the person from the other line picked up.

“Bill? What is it this time?” Will’s voice rang from the receiver, irritation evident in it. Bill’s smile widened, amused at how annoyed his twin was with him calling on his personal number during work. “Are you in trouble?”

“Hell, no!” Bill exclaimed, snickering at his brother and his irrational worry for him. Well, looking at Bill’s line of work, maybe he had enough reason to. “I just want to check on my dearest brother! Is that bad?”

The capo could practically see his brother roll his eye. “Bull. How important is this that you have to call me while I’m working?”

Bill laughed through his nose, and spoke, “There’s a party next week, and you’re coming with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh thank you so much for reading! Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! Point out some errors, and I will fly back and fix them!


	11. A Meeting at Eight in the Evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I’m back! Sort of… uhmmmmm this still has a lot of grammatical errors and stuff, so I apologize for them in advance. You guys deserved a lot more than this. I am sorry to give you poor quality works… Pasensya na po, baguhan pa lang po ako huhu… 
> 
> Special thanks to Turtlez for beta-reading this chapter! I owe you one! 
> 
> Yeah, uhm, enjoy? Haha… I suck I’m sorry ;^;
> 
> (PS: I think this wasn't beta-ed completely... Totes my fault. I just rush into things, so mistakes are def mine)

To say that he was nervous was an understatement.

Dipper puffed out a breath, before entering the head publisher’s office. His hands were balled into fists; beads of sweat forming on his forehead. This was it. This was the day Dipper Pines would lose the job that he just started to learn to love.

Editor Innsbruck walked towards Whittaker’s side and stood there, regarding Dipper with an intensity that he could not comprehend. Whittaker, on the other hand, looked tired and stressed, the bags under his eyes bigger than Dipper remembered.

“Sit down, my lad,” Whittaker said, motioning for the chair in front of his desk. Dipper did as he was told, scurrying to take the seat. He looked down, refusing to meet Whittaker’s disappointed gaze and Editor Innsbrucks’ questioning yet worried ones.

“Am I gonna lose this job?” Dipper piped up, cutting whatever Whittaker was about to say next. The bald man’s mouth hung open, caught off guard at the brunet’s sudden question.

“N-No, lad. Of course not,” he stammered, eyes now directed at his intertwined hands. He sighed audibly, the tension in the air not shifting one bit. “I am sure that you are now quite aware about the mafia’s ties with this company.” He looked back at Dipper, appearing older and older as the seconds ticked by.

Dipper shook his head. “Bill didn’t tell me anything about it. He just told me how he threatened you about...” He gestured to himself and let his hand slump back on his lap. Whittaker’s eyes widened briefly, as if he heard something that was preposterous to a normal human’s ears.

“Bill?” he asked, one eyebrow shot upward.

“Yeah, Bill,” Dipper reiterated, confusion etched on his already nervous face. “Why?”

Whittaker only pursed his lips, surprise still evident in it. “N-Nothing...” A few moments of silence had settled among them, the ticking of the clock’s hand deafening as the air grew heavier, before he asked, “He lets you call him by his name?”

It stunned Dipper for a moment. He searched Whittaker’s face, looking for an answer he didn’t want to voice aloud. _What did that even mean? Wasn’t it normal to call people by their given name?_

“Well, yeah. W-Why?” he asked. Whittaker shook his head, dismissing the topic entirely. He slumped on his old swivel chair, the poor thing creaking in protest. Dipper pursed his lips, unsure of what to think about the head editor’s seemingly odd behaviour.

“Nothing. Look, I called you here for an apology,” Whittaker admitted. Dipper’s eyebrows instantly met, wondering as to why the man would ask for one. For every scenario that went through his mind, this definitely wasn’t one of them. “For all the trouble, I mean.”

“Sir, I think I should be the one-”

“No, clearly, it’s my fault.” Whittaker stood up awkwardly due to his potbelly, and started to pace around the room. Both Editor Innsbruck’s and Dipper’s eyes were trained on him. “I should have made steps to ensure your safety. I know how dangerous that family can be.” He turned to Dipper, his face solemn and remorseful.

Editor Innsbruck just sighed and crossed her arms. “If you haven’t made a deal with that freak in the first place, you wouldn’t be obliged to go along with his whims,” she grumbled loudly. Dipper studied her. Her loathing for the mafia was clear in both her tone and expression. For what reason, Dipper didn’t know.

“Louise, we talked about this,” Whittaker said exasperatedly, his right hand massaging his forehead. “We’ve been threatened! I couldn’t just sit here and wait for someone to rain bullets on all of us!”

“So, dealing with a sociopath is the only solution?” she retorted aggressively, her hands balled into fists.

“Psychopath...” Dipper mumbled, his two bickering bosses turning their attention on him. He slunk down on his chair, feeling small at their gaze. “I think he’s a psychopath.”

“The point is: a publishing company should _never_ seek any protection from anyone in the underworld. You, of all people, should know that, uncle.” Editor Innsbruck raked a hand through her hair before sparing a look at Dipper one last time, and making her leave. She slammed the door, an obvious display of her displeasure.

Silence filled the room, both men still unsure of what to say after the editor’s walkout. Dipper fiddled with the hem of his sleeves, a little anxious about what just happened. Whittaker just shook his head, disappointed with his niece’s behaviour.

“Sorry about her, Pines. She had a lot on her plate lately.” He smiled at Dipper, easing the boy’s tense nerves.

“She’s your niece?” he asked, earning him a chuckle from the bald man.

“Ah, yes. There’s not much resemblance, I know.” He sat down and leaned on his swivel chair, the old thing creaking loudly under his weight. “I do hope you keep this a secret from Pacifica, kid. She’ll go nuts.”

Dipper sat there, confused. “You don’t want me telling Paz that Editor Innsbruck’s your niece?”

“What? No, no. She knows about that!” Whittaker sat straight, his intense gaze focused on Dipper. “About the deal with the mafia, I mean. I think it’s appropriate if her parents were the ones to do that.”

Well, that made a lot of sense. Sort of. No wonder Pacifica hadn’t known about yesterday’s fiasco until she saw him with Bill. Whittaker himself didn’t inform her, which Pacifica also failed to notice. She must have been really distraught with the oncoming party her parents were preparing.

“So they know? About all this... mess?” Whittaker just smiled at him, forced and humorless.

“A mess indeed,” he mumbled under his breath, “And yes, they know. I had to inform them, and believe me they weren’t pleased. They didn’t like Cipher’s gut much more than you and I do.”

Dipper disagreed. Out of all people Bill had pissed off, he was probably the one who hated Bill the most.

“Again, I apologize. I dragged you into this world. If only I said no to him that day he called-” Whittaker cut himself, realization dawning on him. “Cipher called to make sure you are far from harm’s way... He himself called to make sure of that... Why?”

And the million dollar question has been asked. Dipper gulped despite his mouth going dry. He fidgeted slightly, unsure of how to start everything.

And then Dipper started to talk about that unfortunate night.

Throughout his story, Whittaker intently listened. He would give the occasional nod, or purse his lips, but he didn’t make any comment. Dipper, on the other hand, hated himself more and more as he kept on recalling it. If only he had not listened to any of his whims, then he wouldn’t be stuck in this situation.

 _Yeah, Dipper. Go venture out a city infested with criminals at 10 in the evening. Any sane person would do what you did,’_ he scorned at himself.

“And that’s how my life unfortunately got intertwined with Bill’s,” he concluded. Whittaker’s eyes only widened, but he didn’t say anything. The lines on his face became more apparent, and Dipper could see how older he seemed now that he heard the mess that was Dipper’s life.

“I see. No wonder he’s got so much interest in you. No one usually helps a bleeding capo.” At this Dipper snorted, earning him a look from the bald head publisher.

He shook his head. “I guess anyone would, especially if there’s a gun pointed directly at their head.”

Whittaker chuckled, though it wasn’t as hearty as Dipper was used hearing to. “You have a point,” he said, “but I want you to promise me, Pines. Be careful of that man. He’s crazy, and no one knows what he can do to you. If possible, stay away from him.”

Dipper nodded, regret immediately settling on his chest. “I’ll try.”

The head publisher leaned, managing to give him a pat on the shoulder. Dipper mumbled a small thanks, before he stood up and made his leave.

Whittaker was right. If he wanted to stay alive a little longer, he should stay away from Bill. But how could he do that, he did not know. Plus, the article he was planning to write would be a beacon for Bill’s attention.

He just had to figure out a way.

+++

Overtime shifts were not usually Dipper’s thing. Not that he was doing any important job, he just did not want to go home yet.

He leaned on his chair, subconsciously chewing on the fifth pen that graced his hands that day. In front of him was the unfinished article, mocking him as he thought of a good starter. He remembered the conversation with Whittaker, of how someone was threatening the lives of the employees in the publishing house. Maybe a news writer purposely revealed a government scam, or the previous columnist did something to irk anyone from the underworld.

Dipper was snapped out of his musings when he tasted the ink of the pen he was chewing. He sputtered and ran his tongue across the sleeve of his shirt, removing some of the ink that reached it.

“Oh, gross!” he cried, looking down at his shirt. Most of the ink splattered on it. Great. He grumbled as he stood up and glared one last time at the article he was supposed to be working on. He shook his head, finally surrendering to the demon known as a writer’s block.

He glanced at the wall clock, grimacing at the time. It was almost eight. Bill said he was going to meet him at eight. Dipper mentally slapped himself (which was something he had been doing quite often ever since Bill came to his life), and worried where Bill would decide to ‘meet’ him. Not on an abandoned warehouse, he hoped.

Dipper said his goodbyes to the few news writers that was still working, before he got out of the establishment and flagged a taxi. He leaned against the window, chewing on his bottom lip and thinking about his (hopefully) upcoming article.

Truth be told, he was having second thoughts about crossing Bill. His conversation with Whittaker only adding to the doubts he currently had. His boss was right about Bill being crazy. Now, he worried for his family’s safety. Just because Bill’s here in Manhattan doesn’t mean he could not get his hands on Mabel and his two great uncles.

Well, damn Bill to hell.

He sighed loudly, letting the music from the taxi’s radio relax his tense nerves. A few minutes later, the taxi halted in front of the bricked apartment he was staying in. He paid for the fare and climbed out, immediately seeing the guard from last night. The man looked surprised- no - frightened, and Dipper had the hunch why.

He walked the front steps and stopped when he was near the guard’s desk.

“He’s in there, isn’t he?” Dipper asked, only to receive a small nod in response. He made an about-face, planning to ditch Bill, and go somewhere away from the psychopath. But only after a few steps, he heard an aggravating voice grate his nerves. He tensed and halted on his tracks.

“Hey! Pine Tree!” Bill yelled to gain his attention, half of his body poked out of the window of his room. Dipper slowly turned, and was met with a blond grinning wildly at him while waving a hand around as if trying to catch his attention. Dipper could only gape at the odd man. “Where ya going? Trying to escape?”

Dipper narrowed his eyes, shifted on where he stood, and decided to just get it over and done with. Before he could enter the building, the guard, Alston, caught him by the arm. It startled Dipper for a moment and was about to shake his arm off before he saw the man’s expression.

“Hey, be careful of him. I know that you know what he is, but stay safe.” Dipper discreetly nodded, and made a mistake of turning his eyes back to Bill.

The man’s single visible eye was narrowed, his lips curled down in a frown.

Dipper turned back to Alston and uttered a small ‘thanks’. After letting go of his arm, he rushed to his room. He didn’t immediately enter, his nerves finally getting the better of him. He felt minutes tick by before he heard a voice from the inside.

“ _Entrare, Albero di Pino._ The door’s not locked,” Bill said, voice slightly muffled, but his tone was clearly displeased.

Dipper calmed himself as best he could, before he swung the door open. He was met with Bill sitting on the armchair by his desk, a wine glass on one hand. He was still frowning, a cool look directed at Dipper’s entry. Music filled the room, not loud, but still audible. Dipper recognized it as Louis Armstrong’s ‘Melancholic Blues’, one of Grunkle Stan’s favorite.

There were a lot of things Dipper could ask, things like ‘ _how’d you get in?_ ’, ‘ _what do you mean you’re not the one who killed him_ ?’, or ‘ _did you come here alone_?’ Instead, his mouth decided to ask the first thing that left his mouth.

“Do you… like that song?” There was no immediate reply, both surprised at the question asked. Bill’s eye widened, obviously not expecting it. It eased the frown lingering on his face, and then it faded and turned into pure amusement. Dipper just wanted to let the ground swallow him whole.

“Really? You see me trespassing in your flat, and all you ask is that?” he chuckled, only fueling the brunet’s embarrassment. Dipper temporarily forgot his fear of Bill, and slammed the door in his frustration. “Woah, easy!”

“Shut up,” Dipper snapped, and shed his coat. He hanged it on the rack, and threw his documents on a nearby furniture. He walked towards Bill, but stopped where he wasn’t just an arm’s reach. Bill’s smile faltered for a minute, but returned immediately.

“Hmmm, no. And to answer your question, yes. I like this song. It’s relaxing, don’t you think so?” he asked, downing his wine in one go. He placed it on the desk and casually stood up, closing the distance between him and Dipper. “It’s one of my favorites,” he said when their bodies were only a few meters apart from each other. Dipper groaned inwardly. Bill had to know what personal space meant. He tried to take a step back, but a gloved hand on his shoulder prevented him from doing so. “Where are you going, _ragazzo?_ ”

Dipper wanted to say ‘ _away from you’_ , but held his tongue. With Bill so close, he’d rather not have the life choked out of him. Bill removed his hand, and went back to his seat without a word. He crossed his legs when he got comfortable. He motioned for the bed, silently ordering Dipper to sit down.

“Now about that scum of the earth,” he started when Dipper had settled down, “I made it clear to my men that none of us would lay our hands on him. They are not known for disobedience. I, myself, made sure of that.” He gave the brunet a dark smile, one that never fails to unnerve Dipper. “And do you really think I won’t uphold my end of the deal? Especially when it is tilting in my favor? My, my, Pine Tree, I am hurt,” he said, feigning offense.

Dipper pursed his lips as he contemplated. Bill was right. But then, he could also had Andrews killed for revenge, and get his ‘wish’ from Dipper. It was a win-win situation for Bill. That is if Dipper doesn’t find out he was the one responsible for Andrews’ murder. Yes, that was a possibility.

“You could have Andrews killed, and still get to ask me your wish. That way, you could get two things: Andrews’ life and me upholding my end,” Dipper concluded, eyes meeting the Mafioso’s single golden orb. Bill only looked at him incredulously, mouth slightly agape.

“Really, kid? Really?” he asked, disbelieving. A small, humorless laugh escaped his lips, eye twitching in annoyance. “Yeah, I would do that because I am quite aware that I’m the only one you knew who had a motive, and when Andrews falls dead on the ground, the blame would go directly to me. Thus, it would end our deal. Yes, I would very much want that.” Bill paused for a moment, anger slowly invading his features. He closed his eye and tried to ease his breathing. When he was calm enough, he spoke, “I am not stupid, kid. I know you’d blame me if ever something happened to Andrews. I know that if I had him killed despite our deal, you’d call it quits. And what do I get from that? A missing parcel and a wasted opportunity.”

Bill slumped on his chair and massaged his temple. “Besides, Andrews had made a lot of enemies. I am not the only one who wanted to throttle the life out of him,” he added, tension visibly leaving his body. This time, Bill had made his point clear. Still, Dipper didn’t know if he could believe him wholly.

With that aside, there’s only one question left unasked.

“So if it wasn’t you, who killed him?” Dipper asked, earning him a shrug from the capo.

“Don’t know, don’t care. The only thing I am concerned about was the package,” Bill sighed, bringing a hand up to massage his temples. “Guess I gotta make a lot of changes. Oh, damn hell.”

Dipper’s eyes lit up. That’s right, he remembered. Yesterday, Bill was hell-bent on punishing Andrews, even reaching the point where he almost killed the man in front of an audience. Curiosity got the better of him, and he decided to ask.

“What’s in the package, anyway? Why did Andrews steal it?”

Bill gave him a crooked smile before saying, “Kid, don’t ask questions you wouldn’t want answers to.”

And Dipper shut up. Both men fell silent, the music coming from the radio ending, only for another song to start. It was Sidney Bechet’s ‘Old Stack O’ Lee Blues’. Neither one of them made a move, or started to talk. They only studied each other, Bill with his intense gaze and Dipper with his questioning ones. By the time the song ended, Bill had stood up and started for the door. He stopped in front of it, and turned around to face Dipper.

“And just because that scum’s dead does not mean our deal is broken,” he said, watching and waiting for any violent protest from Dipper. “I promised not to kill him, but I did not promise to protect him.”

Dipper stood up and nodded. “I know. I’m not stupid.”

Bill slowly grinned and walked toward Dipper, stopping only when he was inches away from the brunet. If Bill’s invasion of personal space earlier was bad, this was worse. The capo was so close, he could feel Bill’s breath hit his face. Dipper wanted to push him away and make a run for it. Bill is a creep, and Dipper could confirm that.

Bill cupped his cheeks with his gloved hands. “Oh, I know you aren’t, Pine Tree. I know. You are just too smart for your own good,” he said, his single visible eye darting to the brunet’s lips. His gaze stayed there, studying, analyzing. Dread settled on the pit of Dipper’s stomach, and he prayed Bill won’t do what he thinks he would do.

Bill leaned and Dipper closed his eyes shut. But instead of what he was dreading, he felt a thumb firmly wiping something off the corner of his lips. He poked an eye open, only to see Bill focused on erasing the thing his gaze caught on.

“Is this… ink?” he asked after he was finished, and moved away from Dipper. The younger man stood there awkwardly, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. “Why do you have ink there?” His eyes surveyed Dipper’s form again, and finally noticed the ink on his clothes. “Why are you smudged with ink?”

Dipper opened and closed his mouth like a gaping fish. Bill might have not caught on, but he was still embarrassed. Who wouldn’t be? He just thought of the craziest thing that would probably never happen to his life.

Heck, he would rather die than let that happen.

When Dipper didn’t answer, Bill only shrugged and turned away. He opened the door and went out of the room. But before he could leave, he flashed the brightest grin he had at Dipper and saluted.

“ _Buona notte, Albero di Pino! Ciao!_ ”

Dipper was left there standing in the middle of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm, to start things off… I want to thank you guys for all of your encouraging words. You guys are the reason why I haven’t given up on this. Truth be told, I almost deleted my entire account and almost gave up on writing. 
> 
> I’m new to writing. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, disregarded a lot of details, and wrote whatever the hell I wanted. Because of that, I found mean reviews of this fanfic. I know I’m not as good as other people out there, but it still crushed me. I regretted the time and effort I invested on this fanfic. I wanted to stop.
> 
> Then, disappointment with myself turned into anger. I wanted to lash out, to tell those people to fuck off and mind their own business. But I realized it was not worth it. I realized that I shouldn’t face immaturity with equal immaturity. I have to be the bigger person and not stoop down their level. 
> 
> I’ve talked to some people about what happened, both real life friends and online. They all told me to keep my chin up and believe in myself, to wear my shades and ignore the haters. I did that, and I am trying my best to forget that they even existed.
> 
> And you guys. My lovely, awesome, amazing readers who stuck with me despite everything that happened. You guys deserved so much more than what I could offer you. Because of you guys, I wanted to improve, to grow both as a writer and a person. For that, I thank you…
> 
> Maraming salamat po, at mahal na mahal na mahal ko po kayo!
> 
> PS: Let’s all pretend ‘the incident’ never happened, okay? I’m still embarrassed with that author’s note oh god kill me….


	12. A Dangerous Reminder of What He Is Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IF YA’LL THINK I WAS GONE, THINK AGAIN.
> 
> AND SHOUT OUT TO MY FRIEND, ELISSE, FOR GUILT TRIPPING AND HELPING ME INTO FINISHING THIS CHAPTER! ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?!

Three days had passed without any Bill-related incident.

Dipper stood up from his chair and stacked all of his paperwork/research, arranging them in a chronological order. He groaned loudly as his elbow accidentally hit the stack on his right, and set on arranging them for the second time that night. After he was done, he sneered at the article he was writing, annoyance and disinterest immediately clouding his mind. He wanted to write about Bill and his Family, not this article about their country’s new purchase of weaponry.

The brunet raked a hand through his brown locks and sighed before sitting down on his swivel chair. He leaned his elbows on his desk, resting his head on them. He slowly closed his eyes, feeling sleep crawling through his veins and clouding his senses. His muscles relaxed, and he was ready for sleep to take him.

Until a loud noise filled the once quiet office.

“Pines! Aren’t you going home?! It’s already 9!”

Dipper jerked upright, knees hitting his desk hard. He withered in pain, mumbling curses under his breath. He looked up to see who the intruder was, only to be greeted by Santiago’s cheery face.

“Santi?” he murmured, a little irritated. Santiago made his way towards him with a bounce on his step, obviously pleased about something. When the Spanish man was in front of his desk, Dipper opened his mouth to ask, “What?” while absently nursing his right knee.

“What are you doing here so late? It’s not like you to work overtime,” he said, eyes falling down on the unfinished article on Dipper’s desk. His eyes widened, looked at Dipper with glee in his eyes, and let out another soft chuckle. “Isn’t this one of next week’s topic? Why are you in a hurry to finish it?”

Dipper blushed a little, slightly embarrassed. He gathered all of his articles and shoved them inside his satchel, not even caring what state they would be when he took them out next time. Santiago shrugged at Dipper’s slightly vexed mood, and began humming a song, something that Dipper didn’t recognize.

After slinging his bag, his eyes wandered to the still humming Santiago. “And you, what are you doing here so late? You’re usually the one who’s first to leave,” he asked, and began making his way towards the door. He turned to look one last time at his desk, and when he was sure he didn’t leave anything, continued walking. Santiago was right behind him, still beaming.

“Whittaker had me design a new header font. It can be a real drag when he orders me around, but the extra pay he promised!” Santiago whooped in the air, his stride becoming faster. He turned around to face Dipper. “Well, I’ll be off now. Mariella’s waiting for me, and I’m pretty sure she’s mad that I’m still not home by now. Daughters, right? _Adios_ , Pines!” he cried after dashing off as fast as he could. Dipper chuckled lightly, Santiago’s cheery nature infecting him too.

When Dipper got out, a black Studebaker was waiting for him, windows rolled down just enough to show who was inside. Dipper tried to ignore him, but a shout stopped him mid track.

“Just because the boss isn’t here doesn’t mean you can ignore me!”

Dipper turned to the man, Valentino’s scowling face greeting him with all the grace it could have- which was none, by the way. He begrudgingly walked over to the Mafioso, wiping a hand on his face as a way to show his irritation. When he was close enough, he halfheartedly glared back at Valentino.

“What is it?” he asked, bordering to a groan. Valentino only turned back to the wheel in front of him, gesturing for Dipper to get inside the vehicle. Surprised, Dipper shook his head, unwilling to go inside without as much as a proper explanation. It’s not like he was taught to get into strangers’ cars with promises of candies. He won’t get into any car without even the slightest bit of reason. Annoyance flashed across Valentino’s face, and Dipper could tell the man wanted to beat him up and worse for the headache he was giving him right now.

The only reassurance he has was Bill’s shady form of ‘protection’. No matter how much Dipper disobeys Valentino, he knew that the man would not dare hurt him. He doesn’t trust Bill, of course. No one in their right mind would. But he knew that the blond would punish Valentino for any harm inflicted to him, either accidentally or on purpose. As Bill had said, no one can hurt him, even if that man was his own.

Well, at least that was Dipper’s understanding of Bill’s promise.

He could be awfully wrong, though.

“Okay, okay! Fine!” This time, it was Valentino who wiped his face with a hand, face tired and voice hoarse. “Look, someone sent us melon seeds today. You know what that means? Someone wants the boss dead. It’s probably from the Rezzato Family, so we’re expecting a war tonight.” Despite Valentino’s brief explanation, Dipper stood there, confused.

“Huh? War?”

“Riot, stupid. The boss wants me to fetch you and hide you in the manor.”

At that, Dipper held both his hands up, a disbelieving smile accompanying it. “Okay, hold up…” he said, getting his thoughts in order. “You mean I’m to come with you to Bill’s manor?” 

“Yes, so hurry up kid. Time’s runn-“

“No way in hell.” Dipper shook his head, earning him a groan from the other man. “If there’s a war about to occur, the last place I would want to be is inside Bill’s own house.” He started walking away, prompting Valentino to get out of the car, snag him by the elbow, and forcefully drag him to the backseat. He sputtered protests, trying to remove his arm from the man’s iron grip, which he was unsuccessful at.

After he was unceremoniously shoved inside the car, Valentino hurriedly went to the driver’s seat and started the engine. He drove fast, Dipper’s attempt at escaping (by opening the door and jumping off the car) immediately dissipating from his mind. He’d rather not spend the next few days limping around his apartment. Dipper groaned under his breath, annoyed at how other people seemed to be more in control of his life than he does.

He raked a hand through his brown locks, wondering why he let his life become like this. It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way, mostly influenced by Bill’s whims and shenanigans. He looked out the window, unconsciously wishing he had listened to Mabel and stayed in that little town. As much as he wanted excitement in his life, this was far too much. Sure he did want something like this when he was twelve, but he was twenty-five now. He had changed and matured. Plus, his family’s life was on the line, and that is not something Dipper would trade just for his own selfish desires.

As he had said, he was no longer twelve.

“So, Mason-“

“Call me Dipper,” he grumbled, a little surprised that Valentino initiated conversation. The man hated him with such intensity, Dipper was sure he’ll kill him if Bill was no longer in command. Noticing the man’s sudden silence, Dipper darted his vision towards him. Valentino slightly turned to Dipper, the brunet asking him a ‘What?’ in confusion.

“Your name’s Dipper?” he asked, obviously troubled.

“More like my nickname,” Dipper replied. He sat himself straight, Valentino still successful at dividing his attention between him and the road. “I’m not really fond of my name.”

“And you came from Gravity Falls?” Dipper nodded in response, wondering where the sudden interest came from. “And you’re a Pines?”

“Yes. Shouldn’t you know about this already? You are Bill’s seco-“

“Dipper?!” he screeched, harshly stepping on the breaks. The car skidded to a stop, Dipper almost diving in the seat in front of him. He let a string of incoherent curses escape his lips, Valentino awkwardly twisting his body, fully facing Dipper. Dipper could only give him a look of incredulity. “You are Dipper Pines? Weird-kid-with-a-girl-twin-always-wore-the-same-shirt-has-a-huge-crush-on-Wendy Dipper Pines?”

Dipper squeaked and blushed furiously at the mention of Wendy’s name. It had been years since he had a crush on the redhead. More importantly, he wondered how come this criminal knew about her when she never stepped foot in Manhattan. Wendy did leave the Falls once, but she never went to New York, only in California.

At least that’s what she told them.

He eyed Valentino warily, studying his face and wondering if he had met him before.

Then it hit him.

“Robbie?!” Dipper squawked, eyes disbelieving. He hadn’t recognized the man! Robbie was gone for ten years, leaving Gravity Falls with his girlfriend, Tambry, at the age of eighteen. They had eloped, Tambry’s parents disapproving of Robbie’s relationship with their only daughter. Honestly speaking, if Dipper was her father, he’ll do the same thing now that he knew the man was capable of involving himself with a crime syndicate, a second in command at that.

Though it was not entirely Dipper’s fault that he had forgotten. Robbie used to have honey-brown hair, not black. He wondered why he had it colored, especially if the former looked much better on him.

“Oh, shit,” Robbie groaned, letting his head fall on the stirring wheel. Dipper looked around, examining whether or not they were disturbing other drivers with Robbie’s sudden halt. He sighed when he saw none, noticing that they were in a deserted part of the city. “Since when have you been a ‘Mason’?” he grumbled, exasperated.

Dipper shrugged, the earlier shock still in his mind. “Since I was born, I guess?!”

Robbie started the engine with a curse, continuing the drive that was disrupted by the revelation. Awkward silence filled the entire car, both men still contemplating on what to do with their newfound knowledge. Dipper, though, found it reassuring. At least he knows Robbie won’t kill him anymore. Despite their immature fight for Wendy’s heart when they were both young, Robbie won’t kill anyone he had somewhat considered a friend.

Well, if you count the people who saved you from a rampaging Gorilla (long story that involved a travelling circus and Robbie’s attempts to woo Wendy) as friends, then they were friends.

“Oh, God. The Boss…” Robbie muttered, catching Dipper completely off guard. “Oh, damn… You got yourself in a whole lot of trouble, kid.” He harshly swerved to the left as he dodged a black alley cat, Dipper’s face painfully meeting the window. “He could actually kill you if you start boring him, you know?”

“I know,” Dipper mumbled, bringing up a hand to nurse his red cheeks “That’s why I need to come up with an escape plan.

“As if you can. Not without fulfilling your end of the deal first.”

“ _That’s_ why I need to come up with a fool-proof escape plan,” he rephrased. “I _know_ he won’t let me out easy.” 

They curved around a corner, Dipper immediately noticing the drastic change in scenery. There were no longer buildings in sight and trees began to dominate the area. What was once a road made of asphalt became dirt, the vehicle still cruising smoothly despite the few bumps. It became apparent to him that they were getting farther and farther from the center of the city, and it made him fear for his life. He, of course, did not say it out loud for Robbie to hear.

A ray of light from his peripheral vision caught his attention. He turned to look at the source, only to suck in a breath at the sight that met him.

It was something much grander than the Northwest Mansion.

High wrought iron fences surrounded the property, the intricate designs gleaming against the light. Beyond it, Dipper could see an old, whitewashed Victorian style mansion, with porticoes supported by Greco-Roman pillars. A pristine marble fountain sat in the middle of the garden, pouring water elegantly from its spout. The garden itself was marvelous, filled with flowers and trees he couldn’t even put a name to.

The vehicle temporarily halted in front of the gate, Robbie immediately identifying himself. Two heavily armed men checked them, one even poking his head inside to look at Dipper. When they deemed the both of them cleared, they let the gates swung open with a loud creak, and they proceeded to enter the estate.

Before he could climb down the vehicle, Dipper immediately spotted the misfortune of his life, standing there with a shit eating grin plastered on his face.

“Pine Tree!” Bill cried, walking over towards them. Robbie silently motioned for Dipper to get out, following suit when the brunet did so.

“I’ve brought him, just like you ordered, boss,” he said, all trace of emotion from earlier disappearing from his voice. He shared a brief eye contact with Dipper before stepping to the side. Still, he watched over him, and Dipper had a feeling Robbie would protect him in case shit hits the fan. 

That, of course, were just mere speculations.

“Mhm…” Bill hummed, immediately slinging an arm over Dipper’s shoulder. The brunet wanted to shove it off of him, but being surrounded by heavily armed men made him think otherwise. Maybe he can be sassy with Bill when both of them are alone, but like this, no. At that realization, something deep inside him felt horrified. “And I say you did good job, Valentino. Apparently, you tricked Pine Tree well. He actually came here!”

At this, Dipper whipped his head to look at Bill (whose face was way too close for comfort). “Tricked me? I thought you received-“

“Melon seeds?” Bill finished for him. Dipper nodded dumbly, still unable to comprehend what that even meant. A frown slowly made its way to his face as Bill’s grin grew wider than what he even thought possible. “No, Pine Tree! Psh! No one would dare do that to me! It was a trick to make you come here! I mean, I could just ask Valentino to kidnap you and the likes, but I’m not that barbaric. Plus, you might hate me if I do that!”

“So tricking me will make me not hate you?” he asked, incredulous. Bill, the shit that he is, only guffawed in amusement, dragging Dipper with him towards the mansion’s entrance.

“It’s not so bad,” he chuckled, tightening his hold on Dipper, “’Sides, I missed my favorite Pine Tree _! Mi sei mancata!_ Didn’t you miss me?”

“No,” Dipper deadpanned.

Bill clutched his free hand to his chest in mock offense, feigning hurt as he playfully wailed on how Dipper doesn’t appreciate his affections for him. Dipper, on the other hand, rolled his eyes at the Mafioso’s theatrics. Seriously, Bill needs to stop with all of this nonsense. Dipper is an actual human with an actual job to sustain his actual life and not just some toy Bill could have at his beck and call.

To block Bill and his ramblings from his thoughts, Dipper studied the grand foyer that greeted him. The glittering chandelier in the middle of the room immediately caught his attention, its beauty blending well with the high cream colored walls. The floor was made of marbled tiles, accented by a red carpet that stretched all the way from the entrance of the mansion to the top of the stairs. Dipper noticed that the walls had the same architectural design with the Northwest’s mansion, except bigger, grander, an obvious display of Bill’s wealth and societal status.

Dipper was snapped out of his attempts at ignoring Bill when what was once the hand on his shoulder now rested casually on his waist, staying there as if it had the right to do so. Dipper glared at the hand, then to its owner, who was watching him closely, challenging him to do something about it. His single visible eye met his, and Dipper still found them a little unnerving.

Instead of telling Bill to screw off, Dipper let it go, garnering himself an awfully pleased hum from the other. The hand on his waist seemed to hold him tighter than before.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked as they neared the large staircase. “And I need to go home to do my work.”

“Shhh, kid! Don’t think of work now,” Bill said, leading Dipper to a room located on the west wing of the mansion. A few more steps and they stopped in front of a huge double door. Bill’s minions opened it for them, and Dipper was led inside. “We’re going to relax and drink and have fun!”

From how everything was designed and furnished, Dipper mused that it was Bill’s study. There was a study table located on the northern part of the room, some documents and paperwork filed neatly on top of it. Two bookcases were placed on each side, filled with academic books, some Dipper had even recognized. On the middle of it all was an ornate coffee table with two loveseats facing each other on opposite sides. Looking down, he saw a bearskin rug accenting the oaken flooring.

What really captivated him was the huge glass window behind the study table showing the entire city view of Manhattan, the lights from towering buildings and apartments glinting with life. It looked amazing, if he was being honest, but found it quite disconcerting right after when he remembered who owned this very room that had this scenic view.

“Do you usually enjoy looking at cities you terrorize?” he commented, earning himself a small pat from the hand on his waist. He blushed at the action, Bill extracting himself away from Dipper. He went to a small bar on the corner of the room, grabbed the decanter of what Dipper assumed was whiskey, and poured it on two glasses.

“ _Sedersi e rilassarsi_ , Pine Tree. Sit down and relax,” he suggested, and made his way to one of the loveseats. He offered Dipper one of the glasses he was holding, his smile, if not unsettling, inviting. Dipper hesitated for a bit before sitting on the sofa opposite of Bill’s and accepting the glass given to him. He inspected the drink cautiously, sniffed it even, wondering if Bill added something fishy to it. Yes, he had seen Bill pour the whiskey from the decanter right before his very eyes, but it won’t hurt him just to make sure. He doesn’t want to just black out and wake up on an operating table with half his organs fished out from his body.

“Don’t be stupid, kid, I won’t do that,” Bill chuckled. He took a sip of his whiskey and relaxed against the backrest of the sofa. “So, how were you? Anything interesting happening lately?”

Dipper didn’t answer immediately. He eyed Bill, wary, wondering where all the sudden interest came from. He and Bill were not friends to check up on each other like this. Heck, he even detested Bill and he was sure Bill felt the same.

So why bother?

“What do you want from me, Bill?” he sighed, finally drinking the whiskey in exasperation. He mused to himself that he might never figure Bill out, what he wanted, what his motives were. At this point, he really doesn’t care anymore.

Bill raised an eyebrow at his question, his bright smile dwindling down to what appeared to be a confused one.

“Stop pretending you brought me here for a chat. What do you want? Name it so I can go home already.”

“You’re quite cynical aren’t you, Pine Tree?” he said, sloshing the liquid around his glass and watching it lazily with his one eye. “Can’t I just have a good chat with a friend? Do you really think I need to have any ulterior motive behind all of my actions that involved you? Am I not allowed to feel lonely from time to time and long for companionship with people outside my line of work?” He clicked his tongue disappointingly, shaking his head in a motion that almost replicated that of the liquid inside the glass.

“First of all, not friends,” Dipper clarified, gesturing to the both of them with the hand not holding the glass. Bill flashed him a smirk, putting down his glass on the coffee table. He crossed one leg over the other, watching Dipper with such intensity it made the Dipper squirm on where he sat. “Second, you can pick anyone else! Why me?”

“Because I actually like you,” Bill said in a voice that was softer than his usual tone, and Dipper would be lying if he said that it didn’t take him by surprise. “You might be aggravating, but you are the most interesting thing I’ve seen in this bleak city. Be proud of that, kid. It’s a feat no one has ever accomplished before.”

“Well, too bad, because I don’t like you.”

“Just humor me, Pines. It’s not every day I invite people inside my own house.”

“Invite,” Dipper huffed, an incredulous smile immediately invading his features, “more like tricked.”

Bill threw his head backwards and chuckled loudly, a hand clamped over his forehead in pure amusement. It was not maniacal nor crazy nor plain mocking nor anything Dipper had heard before. He seemed just like he found it really funny and was not patronizing Dipper in any way, which was unusual.

After he was done with his small laughing fit, he sat up straight, lips curled into a smile and eyes glinting with cheer.

“Yes,” he agreed, “tricked indeed. Forgive me for that?”

Dipper was about to reply a harsh no when they were interrupted with a loud knock on the door. Both of them turned to look at it, wondering who it could be. Bill glanced briefly at Dipper before he commanded them to enter the room.

Robbie opened the door and immediately went to Bill’s side, flicking Dipper a look. He leaned down, whispering something that Dipper couldn’t hear, but assumed was really important. The Mafioso’s eyes widened for a moment, his mouth momentarily twitching down into a grimace before stopping himself short.

When Robbie was done, Bill turned to him with an obviously fake smile on his face hiding a barely contempt anger Dipper had never seen before. He was used to Bill voicing out his rage and displeasure, at least at the short time he had known him. Right now, the man was obviously restraining himself from blowing off and turning everyone currently in the establishment into a bloody corpse.

“As much as I would love to continue this conversation with you, kid,” he said, standing up and dusting the nonexistent soot off his clothes. Dipper followed him with his gaze, quite uncomfortable with the tense aura that immediately filled the room. He could feel himself almost suffocate. “I have a snitch to pop.”

And with that, Bill left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH I’M SO SORRY THIS CHAPTER TOOK TOO LONG. College demanded so much time from me and I eventually fell into a slump. I promise it wasn’t my intention to put this thing off! 
> 
> Also, I’m sorry for the bad description of things. I am doing my best huhu (Actually, I am apologizing for this fic in general haha)
> 
> AND AHHHH YOU GUYS ARE SO SWEET WITH YOUR COMMENTS I CRIE EVERY TIME I READ THEM. I apologize if I haven’t replied to your messages. I want to reply to all of you guys’ kind words, believe me I do. I just get really nervous when I try to and I’m afraid I might say something that might offend you or anything and I don’t want that ;n; BUT please do know that I appreciate all of your kindness and support! Without them, I might still be hung up about things that I shouldn’t even be hung up about (you know, THAT)
> 
> I LOVE YOU GUYS FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART <3
> 
> (And to anyone asking/wondering out there, yes, I am a Filipino! Hug ko kayo mga beshies uwu)
> 
> PS: This is unbeta-ed, and the translations are not 100% accurate lol


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